


A Most Spectacular Show

by AlwaysAmused, DaughterOfDungeonBat



Series: Murderous Duet [1]
Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Abuse, Abusive Relationships, Biphobia, Caning, Canon Trans Character, Canon deaths, Dubious Consent, Dysfunctional Relationships, Emotional Manipulation, Flogging, Gaslighting, Gen, Internalized Homophobia, Kidnapping, M/M, Misgendering, Paranoia, Reader Discretion is Advised, Roth is his own warning, Seriously use your own judgement when reading this, Sexual Abuse, Slurs, Transphobia, Trauma, and by dysfunctional I mean abusive, deadnaming, this is neither safe sane nor consensual in any way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-19
Updated: 2018-02-20
Packaged: 2019-02-17 04:09:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 25
Words: 52,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13068822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlwaysAmused/pseuds/AlwaysAmused, https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaughterOfDungeonBat/pseuds/DaughterOfDungeonBat
Summary: This fic contains violent and sensitive/triggering content. Please read all tags. More information in the author's notes."My dear, you are going to change the world."With these words, Jacob falls down the rabbit hole behind a man who is everything Jacob wants to be; suave, shameless, and positively free. Along with that, he gives Jacob everything he could possibly want: affection, praise, and the feeling that he's finally doing something right, that someone loves him. But it all comes with a cost even he cannot fully comprehend.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Assassin's Creed.
> 
> Warning: THIS FANFICTION DEALS WITH A VERY ABUSIVE RELATIONSHIP AND ERA-APPROPRIATE LGBT+ DISCRIMINATION! It was not always easy to write at times, and thus may be hard to read at times. Don't feel obligated to continue if you feel uncomfortable! This particular chapter will deal with rape. If you have any concerns, please reference the tags. If you feel they are inadequate, PLEASE LET ME KNOW and I'll update them as soon as I can. 
> 
> Seriously. What Roth is doing is WRONG and should not be copied IN ANY SHAPE OR FORM. He is manipulating Jacob at every turn, and his opinions of any part of the LGBT community is not my own, ESPECIALLY when regarding Ned (please note the transphobia and relating tags concerning that). If you're here to fetishize this relationship, THIS FIC IS NOT FOR YOU. This started out as a writing exercise to see how dark I could go, and because I'm interested in psychology and the psychological aspect of Jacob and Roth's relationship. The explicit tag does not mean "sexy," it means "holy fucking shit, this is explicitly dark." If you're here because you're horny, fuck off. I don't condone any fetishized or romanticized interpretations.
> 
> That being said, there will be lighter chapters! Please be aware that because of a few issues, comments are now moderated, and until further notice, anonymous commenting has been disabled.

“My dear, you are going to change the world.”

Jacob looked up at the older man sitting across from him, taken aback. “What?” He said, not sure if he’d heard correctly, then, “Oh no, that’s going to be Evie, not me.”

Maxwell Roth raised an eyebrow as he took a sip of his drink—Jacob had finished his in a few gulps, but it seemed Roth was more civilized—and tilted his head to the side. “Why not? We’ve done some good work, haven’t we?”

“Well, yeah, but-” Jacob fiddled with his glass. “Could I have another drink?” He asked instead and Roth grinned.

“Certainly. But that’s not quite the answer I was looking for.” He got up and took Jacob’s glass out of his hand. The two had been celebrating their latest blow to Starrick’s hold on London, and Jacob could hardly refuse a drink, especially when it came from someone with expensive taste and the money to be choosy. Roth handed him back his drink and sat back down again, watching Jacob.

“So. You don’t think you’re destined for greatness, Jacob?” Roth said, continuing the infernal conversation.

“Never said _that_ , did I?” Jacob said with a grin, trying to imitate Roth by sipping his drink. “I just think you’re embellishing a bit.”

Roth laughed at that. “I’m an actor, darling; can you really blame me for embellishing a tale? But in all seriousness, didn’t you yourself say that we’ve done more in the past few weeks than your sister has done in months? I’m telling you, Jacob, you underestimate yourself.”

Jacob was rendered speechless. _Fuck acting civilized,_ he thought as he took a good gulp of his drink to avoid replying. He did, however, notice Roth’s knowing smile. He shifted in his chair before standing and said, “Well, I think I should be heading back. Evie always gets on my case if I’m-”

“Already?” Roth said, sounding disappointed. “Come now, Jacob, she’s hardly in charge of what you do. Besides, you haven’t even finished your drink. You’ve certainly earned a break; sit down and relax!”

He was right, Jacob thought as he sat down again, feeling a little foolish. Evie _wasn’t_ in charge of him. Roth pulled out a pack of cigarettes from a drawer. “Care for a smoke?” He asked, pulling one out and offering it. Jacob declined.

“Not much of a smoker,” he said.

“Ah. Very well then.” Roth put the smoke away before pausing. “Would you mind terribly if _I_ smoked?”

“Not at all,” Jacob replied easily. Roth took the cigarette back out and reached into his pocket for a box of matches.

“Always good to have matches,” he said, striking one of them on the table. “Never know when you’ll need it, eh?” Jacob hummed in agreement and watched the flame sink down towards Roth’s fingertips, hypnotized, until Roth put it out. Jacob was feeling faintly sleepy and he glanced down at his glass.

“Did you put something in my drink?” He asked. It had tasted normal to him, but…

Roth smiled. “Nothing I don’t usually put in my own glass. It’s just a mild relaxant; I felt we were both still a little high-strung from our little adventure.”

“Ah.” Jacob frowned and Roth finished his drink.

“My apologies, darling,” he said, seeing Jacob’s expression. “I really should have asked; that was rather careless of me.”

“That’s alright,” Jacob said, placing his empty glass on the table. “But I really _should_ be getting back now.”

He stood, and Roth watched him intently with a look that seemed to see into Jacob’s very soul. “Would you care to spend the night?” He offered, glancing at the bed. Jacob blinked at him, and it took a moment for him to realize what he was offering.  Jacob went red. He had seen the way Roth looked at him at times, watching his mouth, or the way he leaned forward to catch every word Jacob said.

“I- I really shouldn’t,” Jacob said. It wasn’t a no, but if Evie were to find out about this…

Roth seemed to read his mind. “Worried about that sister of yours, my dear? You mustn’t fear, Jacob; my staff is _very_ discreet. No one but us need know anything.” He paused and smiled. “It’ll be our secret, yes?”

“I’m not afraid,” Jacob said indignantly. Roth lifted his hands.

“I didn’t say you were,” Roth said. “No need for arguing.”

“I’m _not_ ,” Jacob insisted.

“I believe you.” Roth stood, picking up Jacob’s glass and going to put them away, turning his back to Jacob. “It was just an offer. But I would be very… _pleased_ if you were to stay, to say the least.”

Jacob felt torn and stood uneasily by the door, but was intrigued all the same. “…What did you have in mind, exactly?” He asked. Roth laughed softly, his back still turned.

“It would be easier to show you,” he replied. “Come now, take off your coat and hat, stay a while longer. What’ll it hurt? Your _sister_?”

“Evie’s not the boss of me,” Jacob replied.

“No one is, Jacob.”

Jacob glanced at the window. He could still leave if he chose, but… Did he want to? He looked back and saw Roth take his revolver out of a hidden pocket, carelessly taking the bullets out and tossing it on the table. Jacob relaxed. What exactly did he think was going to happen? He could trust Roth; the man had certainly proved that.

Slowly, he took off his top-hat, collapsing it and putting it away before taking off his coat. Roth glanced back at him and smiled. “Is that a yes then?” He asked, looking utterly delighted. Jacob shrugged, hoping to seem nonchalant. Roth laughed again and walked over, extinguishing his cigarette in a dish and taking Jacob’s coat, laying it over a chair. “Would I be correct in thinking I am your first?”

Jacob swallowed, but couldn’t stop the flush from creeping up his neck, his heart thudding in his chest. Roth’s smile softened, and he leaned in to whisper in Jacob’s ear, “It’s an honor I won’t take lightly. Relax, my dear, and trust me. You’re in skilled and experienced hands, after all.”

Roth kissed his jaw and pressed up against him, laughing again a little when Jacob stiffened. “That’s quite the opposite of what I’ve asked now, Jacob. _Relax_.”

Swallowing, Jacob loosened up as Roth ran his hands over Jacob’s waist as he kissed him, almost chastely, upon the lips. He reached up to cup the back of Jacob’s head and kissed him again, deepening it, until Jacob groaned a little, leaning into it. Roth pulled away then. “Greedy,” he said, sounding amused as he led Jacob towards the bed. “I _like_ it.”

Nerves were balling up in Jacob’s stomach as he laid down on the bed, letting Roth straddle him, unbuttoning his shirt and kissing him as more and more skin was exposed, taking his time when he discovered Jacob’s tattoos. Jacob didn’t know what to feel, but he knew when Roth placed his hands over his exposed hips, his gut twisted into something akin to shame.

Roth paused, nimble fingers hooked over his trousers. “How are you feeling, darling?” He asked. Jacob swallowed, a lump forming in his throat.

“Um.”

“Jacob?” There was a note of something prompting him, as if ordering him to answer, but he found he couldn’t speak. Roth seemed to know anyway and came back up. “Look at me, darling.”

Jacob did. Roth’s eyes were narrowed a little. “You have nothing to be ashamed of, Jacob. Just relax. You _do_ trust me, don’t you?”

Jacob’s throat felt dry and he squeezed his eyes shut and nodded. Roth let out a sigh of relief. “That’s good to hear. Shall we continue?”

Not waiting for a reply, Roth undid Jacob’s trousers and slid them down, pressing his lips lower and lower. Jacob tossed an arm over his eyes, wanting to hide from the overwhelming nerves that were threatening to spill over.

“None of that now, my dear,” Roth said. “Just _feel_.”

He _was_ , Jacob wanted to say. He was feeling every little touch Roth laid on his bare skin, felt every little reaction his body was having, knew he was already hard. He resisted the urge to cover his face and could feel himself trembling long before Roth took his cock into his hand. He wanted to vomit, he felt like he was going to _explode_ , like he was already burning from the inside out.

“You’re doing very well,” Roth remarked, stroking his hip and settling between his legs. “Do you have any idea how beautiful you are, Jacob?”

Was he? He couldn’t be, there was absolutely _no way_ he could be this disgusting and still be attractive, Jacob thought as Roth bent over him, taking his cock in his mouth. Jacob’s fingers grasped desperately at the sheets as he squirmed, breathing heavily, until Roth reached up and took one of his hands in his own, gently squeezing, grounding him a little.

It was overwhelming. _Too_ overwhelming; he could hear every shameful noise he was making, and he bit his lip, trying to silence himself. By the time he came, there was blood in his mouth. Roth didn’t seem fazed by any of it, but stroked his cheek with one hand, undressing himself with the other. It wasn’t over yet, Jacob knew, and when he realized what was coming next, he shook his head, swallowing.

“I- I’m not sure about this,” he said. He felt like he was going to be sick, nausea settling into his stomach.

Roth came back up. “Shh, darling, it’s alright,” he said, stroking Jacob’s hair. “You’re doing so well, you’re so good for me, do you know? Just a little more, can you do it?” And Jacob found himself nodding. Roth kissed him again and Jacob found himself _wanting_. He was breathing hard. “Good boy. So good, Jacob, darling,” Roth murmured. “You’re gorgeous like this, don’t be ashamed, you’re beautiful.”

He went back down, resting back between Jacob’s legs, running his hands over the backs of Jacob’s thighs, telling him to bend his knees. He did so, with no little amount of discomfort and embarrassment and Roth ran a hand over Jacob’s backside, removing it for a moment, then pressing a slickened finger to his entrance. Jacob’s whole body shuddered, and he found himself both wanting this to happen, and _not_ wanting this to happen.

“Relax, Jacob,” Roth reminded. “It will make this much easier.” He pushed a finger inside.

It was uncomfortable, but Jacob couldn’t say it hurt the way he was expecting it to. Roth used his fingers until Jacob forced himself to relax a little, earning him a kiss on his knee and more praises that made him feel hot and a little giddy. Roth then crooked his fingers, searching, and suddenly Jacob’s entire body felt as if it had been shocked and he was horrified to find himself moaning. Roth repeated this movement and Jacob squirmed, his hands balling into the sheets as he felt himself get hard again. Roth grasped his cock again and the mixed sensations had Jacob writhing until he came again.

He didn’t realize he was crying until Roth reached a hand up to wipe his tears away. “There you are, my dear,” Roth said with smile. They weren’t finished, but Jacob found himself already worn out when Roth pushed himself in almost excruciatingly slow. Jacob was not sure how much more he could take, but he was exhausted and only found himself tensing a little as he shifted around the discomfort. This didn’t feel right, _none_ of this felt _right_. Roth picked up his pace a little once Jacob had relaxed again, spreading his legs a little more when Roth prompted him.

“ _Jesus_ , darling,” Roth said, is breath getting heavier, and then it was over, and Jacob was left empty, one of Roth’s hands on his knees while the man stroked himself through his own orgasm.

When he was finished, Roth sighed deeply and moved away from between Jacob’s legs, picking up the discarded blanket from the floor and placing it over Jacob, pushing his hair—drenched with sweat—away from his face and pressing a kiss to his forehead. Jacob watched with fuzzy vision as Roth moved across the room, completely naked, and fetched a drink. He soon returned and sat on the edge of the bed.

“Sit up a little, darling, and drink this,” he said. Jacob did, leaning against Roth, and Roth pressed the glass to his lips. It was somewhat salty, but Jacob drank it gratefully, Roth stroking his hair. When he finished, Roth placed the glass aside and helped him lay down again, blowing out the light and getting in beside him.

Shame and guilt built up in Jacob’s stomach again in the darkness and he curled up on his side, aching a little, tears slowly leaking out of him.

“Shh, darling, I’ve got you,” Roth murmured, and pulled him close. “Everything’s alright now.”

It didn’t feel that way, but Roth was warm, and Jacob was so, _so_ tired now. He burrowed closer to Roth, letting the man hold him and whisper praises to him.

“Sleep, Jacob,” he said. “You did very well. Sleep now.”

Jacob only hummed in reply, sniffed, and finally let his exhaustion overtake him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! This is the first multi-chaptered fic I've come out with in a while. Yay! I couldn't have done it without the wonderful and amazing DaughterofDungeonBat, my girlfriend with whom I write most of my Assassin's Creed fanfiction. We come up with the ideas together, I write it out, and she reads the chapters as I come out with them, giving me the support I need to finish. Thanks, babe!
> 
> Edit: DAUGHTER DOESN'T WRITE THIS FIC. I, AlwaysAmused, write everything you see posted. If you see chapters by her, it's because I'm away and she's posting the chapters for me. Please keep her out of any and all conflict you have with the story. Seriously, if you don't like it, there's other fanfics to choose from. I've been very clear about the content of this story, so instead of being uncivilized about it, please just return to the archive. Literally everything that happens in this fic is tagged, so please read the tags carefully! Don't feel obligated to finish, or to read if you don't want to! Chapters will be tagged, and heavier chapters will get a warning before they are posted!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a lighter chapter than the last, don't worry. I also use some Victorian slang in this chapter; "poked up" means "embarrassed." I found these delightful terms [here!](http://mentalfloss.com/article/53529/56-delightful-victorian-slang-terms-you-should-be-using)  
> 

When Jacob awoke, he felt sluggish, achy, very thirsty, and with the terrible need to use the bathroom. Sunlight was filtering in through the heavy curtains, but the rest of the room was quite dark. He was warm, and he was aware of someone directly behind him, pressed against him, an arm around his waist, warm breath on his neck.

The night’s events came back to him and he groaned a little, curling up as soft laughter came from behind him.

“Good morning, darling.”

“‘S’it still morning?” Jacob mumbled. Roth stoked his thumb over his hip, huffing out a laugh.

“It’s getting late, but yes.”

Jacob let this sink in. “Evie’s gonna be worried.”

“It won’t kill her,” Roth replied. “And besides, there’s food if you’re hungry.”

He _was_ hungry, Jacob thought. He also still needed to use a toilet. He sat up, wincing a little, and Roth sat up with him. The older man stretched and sighed as his joints popped a little, and Jacob got up.

“Toilet’s to the right, if that’s what you’re looking for.” Roth said, waving a hand in a general direction. “I’ll have the maid draw a bath for you before you leave.”

Jacob didn’t reply further than a hum of acknowledgement, used the toilet, and returned to find Roth sitting at the table in a red dressing gown, smearing marmalade over toast and looking over the newspaper. Jacob was suddenly very aware of how naked he himself was and looked around for his trousers. Roth looked up and smirked.

“No need to feel poked up, Jacob.” He said, looking Jacob up and down in appreciation. “You’re an absolutely _lovely_ sight to behold in the morning. Come and eat, you must be starved.”

Jacob felt a blush creep up his neck anyway, and finally located his trousers, pulling them on before joining Roth, finding he couldn’t quite meet the elder’s eyes. Roth poured him a cup of tea, which he drank greedily before accepting another cup, adding sugar this time.

“How are you feeling?” Roth asked at last, breaking the silence as he folded the newspaper, putting it aside. “When you’ve swallowed, of course,” he added when Jacob took a rather large bite of toast and beans instead of replying. Jacob took his time chewing. Roth simply sipped at his tea and waited for a reply, peering at him.

“M’Fine,” Jacob said when he’d swallowed, and instantly took another bite.

“Come now, Jacob,” he said. “That was quite a show we put on last night. I’m only concerned for your well-being. How are you _really_?”

Jacob shrugged. “I’m _fine_. Not sure what else you want me to say.”

“Well, the truth would be nice.”

“Not really an honest person,” Jacob said. “You know. Assassin and all.”

Roth snorted and somehow made it sound dignified. “I’m hardly one to ask for that sort of honesty, if that’s what I had asked. I asked for the truth; I don’t appreciate being lied to, after all.”

“Well, I’m _starting_ to feel a little ticked-off,” Jacob muttered, taking the marmalade for himself. Roth smiled.

“Good! Now we’re getting somewhere.” He clapped his hands together once before lacing them together. “I’m only asking because you seemed a little distraught last night. You have quite a lot of feelings on the matter, and I simply want to know how to proceed from here.”

It was reasonable, Jacob thought reluctantly, and washed down his beans and toast with tea, trying to figure out a reply. “I’m… not sure.”

Roth smiled encouragingly. “About how you feel, or how to proceed?”

“Er. Both?”

“Thank you for telling me,” Roth said, placing his hands on the table. “See? Trust is a two-way street-”

“Oh, _don’t_ give me that bullshit,” Jacob said, rolling his eyes. “I’ve been told this before, I don’t need to be lectured like a _child_.”

Roth paused and raised his eyebrows. “Oh dear,” he said. “This is about your father, isn’t it?”

Jacob didn’t reply, but moodily bit into his marmalade toast. Roth sighed. “I see. You think he would be _ashamed_.”

“I don’t want to talk about that.”

“Jacob…” Roth sounded exasperated. “The dead have no control over the living. If you wish to continue this… _partnership_ , who’s to stop you? This certainly isn’t his choice, it’s yours. The only thing stopping you now seems to be _yourself_. And you’re not going to let _that_ happen, are you?”

Jacob put down his toast, not feeling very hungry anymore. Roth leaned in and caught Jacob’s eye. “I could help you, if you think you would like that,” he offered. “Because once you overcome this, Jacob, you will become virtually _unstoppable_.”

Roth leaned back then and poured himself more tea. “What do you say, Jacob?”

“I’ll…” Jacob hesitated. “Think about it.”

Roth laughed. “Perfectly reasonable! Just don’t take too long, hmm? We’ve still got work to do against Starrick, after all!”

Jacob smiled at that, relieved for the change of subject. “What’s our next move?” He asked.

“Well,” Roth said, an evil look flitting across his face, “I happen to be aware of an important shipment being made next week. Shall we intercept it, darling?”

Jacob smirked and tilted his head. “I think we shall,” he said, matching Roth’s tone.

“Then all we must do now is wait.” Roth stood and walked over behind Jacob, lightly placing a hand on his still-bare shoulder. “I’m afraid I’ve business to attend to, darling. Feel free to finish your meal, my maid will come and tell you when the bath is ready. _Do_ think about my offer; I certainly look forward to your answer.”

Roth removed his hand and went to dress. Jacob stayed where he was, picking up his toast again, but felt the place where Roth’s hand had been rapidly cooling, as if he’d been burned by the touch. He looked silently at the baby crow Roth had captured, staring at him with beady black eyes until Jacob pushed some bacon through the bars of the cage.

“Hello birdie,” Jacob murmured. He wondered if Roth had named it. Shaking himself, he reached over and took Roth’s newspaper, flipping through it for anything noteworthy until there was a knock on the door.

“Um. Come in?” Jacob called, and a young woman poked her head in.

“Your bath is ready, Mr. Frye,” she said, coming in. “Have you finished with your breakfast?”

“Wha- Oh, yes,” he said. He wiped his mouth with a napkin and she came in, placing the various plates back on the tray and picking it up. “Thank you,” he said as she left, somehow closing the door behind her. He looked back at the crow before shrugging and getting up, heading back to the bathroom.

He washed quickly, not wanting to linger any longer than he had to. He dried off, got dressed, and found his coat and hat. He left through the window, not wishing to be spotted leaving through the front door. Jacob knew he should go back to the train and check in with someone, but found he wasn’t quite ready to be interrogated yet. Instead, he found a quiet rooftop to do some thinking.

 _Maxwell Roth_. He was an interesting character, Jacob had to admit, but there was certainly something intriguing about him. Every part of him was telling him to refuse Roth’s proposition, likely a result of his father always telling him not to get emotionally involved.

Yet, he _was_ already emotionally involved with Roth, as well as physically now.

They were lovers.

Jacob had a _lover_.

The thought sort of made him want to vomit up his breakfast, but he resisted, taking a few deep breaths. Roth claimed there was nothing to be ashamed of, but… Well it just wasn’t _natural_ , was it? Jacob had had fantasies about men before, but until the previous night, that was all they had been: fantasies. He was, however, hardly a virgin. He had taken women before when he had found them attractive, back in Crawley.

Hell, it wasn’t long ago that he’d found _Pearl Attaway_ attractive. It would be easy, he thought, to pretend he never had feelings for men. To get married to a nice girl, maybe have a few kids once this was all over, it would be _easy_.

Jacob didn’t know what to think. He remembered Roth’s hands and mouth on his skin and swallowed, pressing a hand to his mouth, sitting with his back against a chimney. Despite his initial reaction, it hadn’t been all _that_ bad. It might have even been considered _enjoyable_ , had it not been for the level of shame he felt, both at the time and now, sitting and thinking about it. And despite what Roth thought, there _was_ plenty to be ashamed about; it simply wasn’t natural to want to fuck a man, or vice-versa.

Yet, he had _wanted_ Roth to take him. He had stayed, after all, his curiosity getting the better of him. And now here he was, considering whether or not he wanted to go back. He almost shuddered with disgust at himself; goodness, what _would_ his father have said? What would _Evie_ say if she ever found out?

She couldn’t find out, Jacob decided. It didn’t matter if he went back to Roth or not, she could _never_ find out about this. No one could, he thought as he stood, ziplining his way towards the nearest train station. It helped that no one knew about his partnership with Roth as of now. And no one ever would.

He walked along the train tracks and glanced over his shoulder to see a train moving down the opposite tracks. A moment later as it passed by him, Jacob realized, _Shit, wait, that’s my train_ , and sprinted after it, jumping into the back.

“Hullo, Jacob,” said a Rook. Jacob lifted a hand in greeting and grinned at the kid.

“G’morning, Rolphy,” he said. “You doing alright there?”

“Yessir,” Rolphy said, grinning back up at him. “Although Miss Frye was looking for you not long ago. She didn’t look pleased.”

Jacob swore under his breath. “She’s _never_ pleased,” he muttered and Rolphy giggled. Jacob moved from car to car until he found Evie sitting and talking to Henry in low voices.

“Good _morning_ , everyone,” Jacob said as he entered. “A little bird told me you were looking for me?”

Evie looked over her shoulder at him, looking ticked off. “Jacob, will you _stop_ referring to the kids as ‘little birds’? It wasn’t funny the _first_ time.”

“Oh, I disagree,” he replied with a smirk. “Well, if I’m not needed, I think I’ll just-”

“Mr. Wynert has some jobs that need to be done today,” Evie said. “Unfortunately, I’m chasing a lead today. Would you mind doing them?”

Jacob smiled. If there was one thing he absolutely adored doing, it was jobs for Ned Wynert. The man paid them better than anyone else Jacob had met, and given the number of pounds they were spending on weaponry and the like, they always needed the money. “Absolutely! Where abouts?”

“Thames, I think,” she replied. “And Whitechapel, I believe. Thank you.”

Jacob grinned and left without another word, the anticipation already riling him up as he ran across rooftops, ready as all hell to beat the ever-loving _shit_ out of some Blighters.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Bitch the kettle" means "pour the tea" in Victorian Slang, and I think that's amazing.
> 
> WARNING: There's more dubious consent in this chapter, just as a fair warning.

It was the same routine every day for the next week for Jacob. Run some errands for the Rooks, do some jobs for Wynert, bother his sister until she told him to find someone else to bother, (then bothered Greenie because the man was too polite to tell him to fuck off), and went to Robert Topping’s fight clubs to let off his extra steam. At the end of the day, he went to his favorite pub, sat in a corner, and spent money on beer, and tried not to think about Roth.

The problem was, Jacob always thought to himself, was that he _liked_ Roth. The man was reckless, yet brilliant and somehow always _calculating_. He wasn’t young, Jacob knew, but he was the first person who had really given a damn about him. Who thought he could _do_ something other than be a fuck-up. They made a good team, the two of them, and Roth was an invaluable ally.

Jacob sighed and took another swig of beer, wishing he had something stronger (like, say, some of Roth’s whiskey or that red wine he so enjoyed). Dammit, he enjoyed being with Roth. With his extravagance and booming personality, he was never boring to be around. He wasn’t afraid of what people thought of him, he did what he _wanted_ without fear. Roth was absolutely shameless, and he encouraged Jacob, took him seriously, and _listened_. When was the last time someone had done that, if ever?

He couldn’t even really tell. Evie, perhaps, but that would have been some time ago. The death of their father had changed her, although he could blame grief for that. He wasn’t sure there had been enough love between himself and his father for him to really grieve. What had he truly lost, other than a man who had never shown affection, and who had _never_ taken him seriously?

These were the questions that ran through Jacob’s head. He hadn’t seen Roth since- since _that day_ , and a part of him was starting to get bored with the routine he’d set for himself. And for what? Because he was afraid to confront Roth? That didn’t seem quite right. What was it Roth had said that morning? _The dead have no control over the living_?

Then why did he _feel_ like this? This _shame_ gnawing at his insides? Jacob swallowed thickly, taking another swish of his drink, but finding the bottle empty. Perhaps Roth was right; the only person stopping him was himself.

Coming to this conclusion, Jacob got up and put some money down on the counter to pay his tab. He walked out, waving to the Rooks wishing him a good night. He wasn’t going back to the train, however; he had a different destination in mind.

If anyone could help Jacob overcome his own fears, his own deeply-rooted shame, it was Roth. Perhaps this new partnership—could it even _really_ be called that now?— _could_ be beneficial. It was certainly worth a shot.

He went to the Strand, glad for his hood when it began to rain. He climbed up the side of the Alhambra, quickly finding Roth’s rooms. He peered in and saw the man sitting in an armchair, reading and sipping tea. Jacob tried to open the window, but it thudded against the lock. Roth almost instantly had a gun pointing at the window and Jacob tugged down his hood.

Smiling in surprise, Roth put the gun away and his book down, standing and unlocking the window. “Jacob, my dear, what a wonderful surprise! Do come in and dry off, you’re soaking wet.”

“Such is the consequence of living in our fair kingdom,” Jacob replied with a cocky grin. Roth smirked.

“Don’t I know it. Come in, sit by the fire.” Roth shut the window again behind him and drew the curtains. “Care for a drink? Or perhaps some tea?”

“I wouldn’t say no. Bitch the kettle, then.” Jacob took off his coat and ran his fingers through his damp hair, sitting down next to the fireplace. Roth poured him a glass of wine, humming something under his breath, and Jacob found his gut twisting in a sudden fit of nerves. Was he really going to do this?

Roth came over and handed him his tea. “I took the liberty of adding some sugar to it,” he said. “Isn’t that the way you take it?”

“When I can,” Jacob said, surprised. He accepted the cup, blew on it, and sipped at it. It was quite good, just the right amount of sweetness. “Thank you.”

“Of course, darling,” Roth said, settling back into his armchair. “Getting warm there? Yes? Good, good. Tell me, Jacob, what’s the occasion?”

Jacob grinned, trying to hide his nerves. “What, I need a reason to drop by?” He asked, Roth shrugged a shoulder.

“You generally have one, my dear Jacob.” There was a pause. “Have you thought at all about my proposition?”

 _Right to the point then,_ Jacob thought as he sipped his tea. He nodded. “I have,” he said. Roth waited patiently until he continued, “I thought about what you said and… I agree. I think we should continue with this… whatever the hell ‘this’ is, damn if I know.”

Roth smiled. “Ah, I knew you’d come through!” He said with a bold laugh. “Never one to give up a challenge, eh? You remind me of myself, sometimes. As to what ‘this’ is, well, I suppose that depends on you. What do you want this to be? Are we going to be exclusive?”

Jacob flushed a little, looking down at his cup. “I’m… not quite sure I follow.”

“I think you follow perfectly.” Roth crossed his legs, placing his hands in his lap. “But I’ll humor you. Is this going to be an exclusive relationship, or an open one? I, personally, am fine with it being exclusive.”

“I- Alright,” Jacob said, not quite sure what he was agreeing to. Roth nodded.

“Finish up your tea and we’ll get started then,” he said. “I feel the first thing we ought to tackle is this shame of yours, don’t you agree?”

“Well, yes.” Jacob licked his lips. “Can we, maybe, go a bit slower? I’ve- I’m not very- Well. You understand?”

Roth blinked at him once, slowly, before raising an eyebrow. “Darling, I’m not sure that was a full sentence. Take a moment to pull yourself together, perhaps take off those wet clothes of yours?” The tone of his suggestion was mild, but Jacob found himself being embarrassed anyway as he nodded. He finished off his tea and Roth took the cup back, placing it back on its tray.

“Whenever you’re ready, then,” he said, sitting back again to watch Jacob. “Off with them, if you please.”

Jacob swallowed, starting with his shirt. He was confident with how he looked; he was fully aware that he was attractive, but Roth was fully focused on him, his eyes trailing over his tattoos and stomach. “Keep going, Jacob, we’re not quite there yet.”

He nodded, a jerky movement, and unbuckled his belt, then let his trousers down, shame starting, once again, to color him red. He laid his clothes out so they could dry by the fire and looked back at Roth, who had pressed his fingertips together, his face neutral except for quirking an eyebrow at him, looking down at his underwear before meeting Jacob’s eyes again. Jacob quickly averted his eyes again before finishing his undressing, laid bare before Roth’s eyes.

“Beautiful,” Roth said quietly. “Truly, Jacob, you are utterly _spectacular_.” He stood, and Jacob resisted the urge to back away or cover himself. Roth seemed to notice, for he smiled and said, “You’ve very in-control of yourself. I _admire_ that about you, Jacob; most men your age are much less disciplined.”

“Thank you,” Jacob said and Roth kissed his cheek, his jaw, his lips. He smelled like cigarette smoke and alcohol, and Jacob closed his eyes.

“Try to let go, Jacob,” Roth murmured, trailing a hand up his chest. “Now; to your knees.”

“What?” Jacob’s mental train came to a full stop and he opened his eyes to stare at Roth. Roth raised his eyebrows.

“You don’t expect me to do _all_ of the work, do you?” Roth said. “This is about giving and taking, my dear.”

“But I- I’ve never-” It wasn’t hard to see where Roth was going with this. Jacob flushed even redder and Roth hushed him, pressing another kiss to his lips.

“I know you’re inexperienced, darling,” he said. “But you won’t get better unless you practice, correct? You have to be willing to be bad at something first…”

“…Before you can be good at it,” Jacob finished. “I know, I know.” He took a deep breath, steeled himself, and lowered himself to his knees in front of Roth.

“Good boy,” Roth said, stroking his hair. “And calm yourself a little,” he said, humor tainting his voice. “You’re hardly going into _battle_. I won’t judge your skill. Understand?”

Jacob nodded, and Roth stroked his hair back again with one hand while his other undid his trousers. Jacob’s heard thudded franticly in his chest and he swallowed. Roth was stroking himself to full hardness, one hand still resting gently in Jacob’s hair. “Whenever you’re ready, Jacob,” he said, and it sounded like a death toll in Jacob’s ears. He took another deep breath, and took Roth’s cock into his mouth, unsure of what to expect.

“…You’re supposed to move a little,” Roth said, sounding frankly more amused than Jacob thought he had any right being. He placed his hands on Roth’s hips and started moving back and forth in a hesitant movement, unsure of how far down he was supposed to go.

“Good,” Roth said encouragingly, cupping the back of Jacob’s head. “Take as much as you can, perhaps use your-” He broke off, his hand clenching a little in Jacob’s hair as Jacob flicked his tongue over the head of Roth’s cock. “Yes, exactly,” Roth said when he could speak again. “Very good. Thank you.”

Jacob did it again. It was bitter, and he was deeply uncomfortable, however the reactions he kept getting from Roth were slightly amusing, and he smiled until Roth patted his head.

“Alright now, don’t get too full of yourself, you’ve still a lot to learn,” Roth said, but his voice didn’t hold its usual bravado, and he was using his other hand to lean slightly against the table. Jacob continued and Roth’s breathing was getting increasingly heavy until he finally said, “Jacob, I- I’m-”

Too late, there was suddenly a bitter and altogether unpleasant taste in Jacob’s mouth and throat, and he pulled away, coughing.

“Ah- My apologies, Jacob.” Roth said, reaching across the table for a handkerchief to hand him. Jacob accepted it and spat out the come, wiping his mouth and looking up at Roth. The older man was red in the face, and his pupils were blown wide. “So,” Roth said, trying to regain some of his composure. “Come to your feet now, darling. How do you feel?”

Jacob stood, his knees aching a little. “Well,” he said. “I… certainly had a cock in my mouth.”

There was silence for a moment before Roth began to howl with laughter, pulling his trousers back up and collapsing back into his armchair. “You certainly- You certainly did!” He said and pressed a hand to his mouth. “Oh, my dear Jacob. That was… Thank you for that.” He cleared his throat and sat up. “In all seriousness,” he said. “We’ll continue working with what we have. In the meantime, I think I’d best take care of that.” He glanced down and it was then that Jacob noticed he himself was hard.

“Oh, um. That’s- That’s alright,” he said lamely. Roth waved a hand.

“Nonsense, Jacob. Let’s consider it another… lesson, shall we call it? Come, to the bed. Let me show you how a master works.”

He led Jacob to the bed and got between his legs. It was, in Jacob’s opinion, an awkward position to be in. Roth lowered his head over Jacob’s cock and took it completely, making Jacob suck in as much air as he could, the head of his cock bumping the back of Roth’s throat.

“Do you not have a gag reflex?” Jacob demanded, and Roth snorted, sending vibrations around Jacob and making his breathing hitch. Roth bobbed up and down, his hands holding Jacob’s hips steady when Jacob involuntarily tried to thrust. He felt mortified, but Roth kept on his constant pace, acting like it hadn’t happened. Hadn’t Roth said he admired how in-control of himself he was? Guilt built up in his stomach, he wanted this to _stop_ , wanted to get back in control of himself, but Roth didn’t stop, and it wasn’t long before Jacob cried out as his pleasure spilled over. Roth wasn’t fazed by it, simply swallowed him whole until Jacob slumped, completely spent.

“’M sorry,” Jacob said as soon as his mouth could form proper words. Roth paused from what he was doing—undressing, as far as Jacob could tell—and raised his eyebrows.

“Whatever for? You preformed magnificently.”

“I- I lost _control_ , I wasn’t- I didn’t-”

“Oh, darling.” Roth moved up and somehow maneuvered Jacob so he was pressed against Roth’s chest. “Shh, don’t fret, Jacob. I didn’t expect you to maintain that control during this. Indeed, it’s natural to give it up during a time like this. I think no less of you for it, I assure you.”

Jacob whimpered anyway and Roth let him cry. It was embarrassing; the logical part of him told him he ought to stop carrying on like this, but Roth said nothing about it. He just waited until Jacob fell limp again and wiped his tears away.

“Feeling better?” He asked and Jacob nodded, too exhausted for words. “Alright. Let me up and I’ll get you something to drink.”

Jacob nodded again and Roth laid him back down. For all the guilt and shame that burned him on the inside, there was a different, more gentle warmth too, and he sank into it. It was… pleasant. New. Jacob breathed a sigh, and closed his eyes.

He was asleep before Roth returned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to those who left kudos! They are very appreciated!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: there is biphobia in this chapter. Jacob is bisexual, and it's a headcanon of ours that he was at least a little attracted to Pearl Attaway, even if neither of them acted upon it. This is mostly because we both personally think Pearl is attractive. Besides that, there is nothing explicit.
> 
> The next chapter will be more violent than this, just as a heads up.

The next few days were mostly a blur where Roth was involved. He kept up the routine he had made for himself, but returned to Roth each night for their “lessons.” He spent their night hours together on his knees and I'm his bed, and slowly, the immense shame Jacob had was starting to slip away.

“Consider this.” Roth had said one evening, Jacob with his head laid on Roth’s chest, the older man lazily tracing patterns into Jacob’s skin. “If this were so unnatural, and besides that a biblical sin, why would the good Lord make us like this?”

Jacob blinked sleepily and hummed, making an “I don’t know” noise. “Why’s he make murderers an’ Templars? He works in ‘mysterious ways,’ remember? Jus’… Jus’ ‘cause He made us like this doesn’t mean i’ss not good.”

In all truth, Jacob wasn’t sure what his stand on religion was, but if his grandmother had taught him anything, it was that you respected Him unless you wanted an ass-beating. He told Roth this and he laughed.

“Was she Catholic or Protestant?” Roth asked curiously. Jacob glared up at him.

“Protestant, she was a part of the Church of England and she went to service every Sunday, dragging me ‘n Evie along. Hated it, always thought it was a lot of poppycock.”

“Mm. I agree. Although my parents were Catholic.” Roth pressed a kiss to Jacob’s forehead, and Jacob smiled, allowing himself to snuggle further. “But then, I am the sort of man who would disregard what the Lord said if he spoke to me personally. The Devil’s already settled deep within men like us, may’s well keep him happy.”

“Hm.” Jacob closed his eyes and sighed, feeling perfectly content. It was a rare feeling and he almost didn’t recognize it when it sprang up. When he did, he welcomed it, basking in the warmth Roth gave him.

He likes to think that he and Roth had gotten to know each other quite well. He had told Roth about Evie, complaining about her endlessly, and had even opened up a little bit about their father. In return, Roth told him how he'd ended up with the Alhambra, and what he’d been before.

“Before Robert Topping’s fight clubs started popping up around the city, there was another bloke who ran them,” Roth said. “And for some time, that was how I’d make my living for the night.”

“You fought at the clubs?” Jacob asked, a little surprised.

“Still do, sometimes. I’m a professional boxer. I did that among other things to keep myself alive. Odd jobs, not always the best of them, sometimes a hired gun when people approached. I couldn’t afford to be picky until Starrick approached me with an offer I couldn’t refuse.”

“…Which was?” Jacob asked. Roth snorted.

“Train some of his people to fight and get paid more money than I had ever laid eyes upon, my dear,” Roth said. “And with the money, I bought my beloved theater. I’d already started the Blighters by then; the theater was only the front of my operation. And I do just  _love_  the music that floats up. It also gave me the chance to try out at playwriting and composing.”

“Oh?” Jacob said, propping himself up on his elbows to raise his eyebrows at Roth. “What do you play?”

“Piano, it’s the most readily-available instrument one can find in a theater. The violin has a place in my heart as well, but it is infinitely harder to teach oneself the violin.”

Jacob was impressed. “Well, maybe you could play for me sometime.”

“Darling, it would be my _pleasure_ ,” Roth said with a smile and stole a kiss from Jacob. “But I warn you, it’s not very impressive.”

“Hm. Not sure I believe you,” Jacob said with a grin. Roth smiled back, but there was something a little off. “Are you alright?” Jacob asked. “Was it something I said?”

Roth hesitated. “Jacob… I won’t lie to you, my darling. You never have a reason to disbelieve me. I’m many things, dear, but I always mean what I say.” He shrugged. “It is one of the few virtues I still possess. I don’t like beating around the bush for terribly long, either.”

“Understandable,” Jacob replied. “Um. Thank you. For that.”

Roth’s smile—his real smile—returned and he settled back down on the bed. “Do you remember that shipment I was telling you about some time ago? The one for Starrick?”

“Mm. What about it?”

Roth grinned. “It’s coming in tomorrow. Shall we dance, my dear?”

Jacob grinned. “Indeed we shall, darling.”

Roth laughed and wrapped his arms around Jacob, pulling him close and letting him settle against his chest. “Get some sleep, Jacob,” he said. “We’re going to need it.”

Jacob hummed and snuggled closer, Roth huffing out a breathy laugh at his antics. “Comfortable?” He murmured and Jacob nodded. “Good. Sleep.”

What with a warm bed and a warm body pressed close, it wasn’t a difficult thing for Jacob to do. He slept better with Roth than he had in _months_. Evie had confronted him about where he was sleeping—“You haven’t been on the train in about two weeks, where have you been?”—but had dropped it after he’d told her he’d regularly been sleeping, and eating, and generally taking better care of himself.

In fact, she’d even seemed pleased about it, giving him one of her rare smiles—always rare these days, but he always delighted in seeing it—and saying, “Alright, keep your secrets. Just keep up our work, alright?”

It was nice, being able to talk to Evie for five minutes without bickering endlessly. Even Henry had commented on it, telling him he seemed to be in a better mood. He _was_ in a better mood. When he awoke the next morning, it was to Roth moving about the room, getting dressed and singing something under his breath, dashing about the room. Jacob watched him until the older man glanced at him, took a double-take, and grinned.

“Jacob! Good morning, darling, care for some breakfast?”

“I do care for some breakfast,” Jacob replied and sat up. He was still modest come morning, but Roth tossed his red dressing gown at him. Jacob pulled it on and joined him at the table, remaining silent while Roth looked over the newspaper. As Jacob ate, it occurred to him how utterly _strange_ this was, and he snorted into his beans.

Roth peered up at him. “Something the matter, dear?”

“I’m just- This is so _domestic_ ,” Jacob said, waving around the room. “You, me, sitting and eating breakfast like it _isn’t_ against the law.”

Roth raised an eyebrow. “I wasn’t aware breaking fast with another man was strictly prohibited.”

“Oh, you know what I mean though,” Jacob said, waving his fork. “It just- It doesn’t _happen_.”

“Mm. Happens more than you think,” Roth said, looking back at his paper. “Two men sharing living quarters with one another for ‘rent purposes’ or whatever they come up with nowadays. But it’s usually finances.” He glanced back at Jacob and smiled. “It’s rather easy to be like us; people don’t tend to see it unless they’re looking for it, or it’s completely obvious.”

“Huh.” Jacob hadn’t known. He thought about Pearl Attaway again, with her mousy brown hair and professional manner. “What about… What about liking both? Both men and women, I mean?”

Roth paused in bringing his teacup to his lips and frowned at Jacob. “Are you saying you also find women attractive?”

“Well-” Jacob shrugged. “I’m hardly a virgin in that regard. I’ve… thought about it. Becoming domestic with a lady.”

Roth raised an eyebrow. “What sort of lady?”

“Er…”

“ _Jacob_.” There was a note of disapproval that made Jacob squirm in his chair.

“Pearl Attaway?” He said, phrasing it like a question instead of an answer. Roth considered.

“Mm. I always hated that woman,” he replied. “Always too concerned about her buses and her business. I admired her independence, though. She knew what she wanted and took it; I can respect that.” He paused to take a sip of tea. “Didn’t you _kill_ her?”

“I- Yes, I assassinated her,” Jacob said, still feeling uncomfortable.s

“Hm.” Roth went back to his paper for a few moments. Then, “To answer your question, no. It’s not usual to like both. Either commit to liking one or the other.”

“Oh.” Jacob felt like an idiot and went back to his breakfast instead. He went to bathe with he finished, but before he left the bathroom, he heard voices in the main room. Peering out, he could see Roth speaking to one of his lackeys. It wasn’t long before Roth dismissed the man and Jacob emerged.

“Jacob! Get dressed, apparently the shipment’s coming in sooner than expected, it’ll be going across the Thames in less than half an hour.”

“I- What?” Jacob located his clothes—the maid had taken them the night before and washed them—and pulled them on, ready to go in a matter of minutes. It wasn’t long before the two were racing towards the docks, Jacob flicking on his Vision to locate the boat. He pointed it out to Roth. “Are we going to destroy it, or hijack it?” Jacob called from his perch.

“Destroy it!” Roth called back. “Starrick’ll get suspicious!”

“Not if _my_ people take it,” Jacob pointed out and looked around, spotting flecks of green. “Oi! You lot!” He shouted and the Rooks stood at attention. “When that boat there gets close enough, board and take, you know the routine! Wait for my signal!”

Roth shouted at his back as he made his way across the Thames to the ship. The Rooks were positioning themselves at the harbor and Jacob relieved the Blighters of their lives and it wasn’t long before he signaled the Rooks.

He glanced around, looking for Roth, and noticed the man lingering in the shadows, an unreadable expression on his face. He met Jacob’s eye, then turned and walked out of sight into the street. Jacob sighed, but brightened to congratulate the Rooks on their victory before going after Roth.

“Alright, what’s the matter?” He said, crossing his arms.

“Oh, nothing,” Roth said, his tone betraying nothing. “Absolutely nothing, except that you have no idea what you’ve just stolen.”

“And do you?” Jacob asked. Roth glanced around the streets.

“Not here,” he murmured. “The streets have ears. Come to the Alhambra tonight. I have business to attend to in the meantime to make sure Starrick doesn’t find out my involvement in this.”

He walked off down the street and Jacob watched him go, feeling miffed before rolling his eyes at the man’s back. Speaking of business, he had some for Wynert to attend to. He backed away from a building and shot his zipline, speeding to his office to ask what he needed done.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Roth is gaslighting in this chapter. Roth did not tell Jacob what the packages were.

Wynert looked up when Jacob walked into his office and grinned wryly. “Good morning, Frye,” he said. “You seem agitated. What’s got your knickers in a twist? A spat between you and Miss Frye?”

“No, a business partner of mine,” Jacob replied and sat across Wynert’s desk, putting his feet up. “But that’s not important. What’ve you got for me today?”

Wynert set out a map for Jacob. “Here in the Strand, two down in Lambeth, and one over by Westminster, here. Take them to these separate locations and my people will meet you there. You got all that?”

“Strand, Lambeth, Westminster. Got it. Anything else?”

“Whatever you come across to or from,” Wynert said, pushing his glasses back up his nose. “Send your people back here after, and when you’re done…”

“You’ll pay me like usual?” Jacob said. “You spoil me, Neddy boy.”

“Please never call me that again. Close the window on your way out.”

“Your wish is my command,” Jacob said and got up, giving him a mock bow. He left the window open just because he could, because what was Wynert going to do, fire him? He started at Lambeth, escorting the carts there to their proper destinations, then up to Westminster.

The jobs were routine and finished quickly until he reached the Strand. There was a short brawl while the Blighters tried to take their cargo, and Jacob ended up having to chase after to get it back. Once he had the cart back, he lost them fairly quickly, but far from where he was supposed to take it. With a sigh, he cracked the reins, saying words of encouragement to the horses.

He had almost reached the warehouse when there was a ground shaking explosion. Jacob’s head turned, and he accidentally led the cart onto the sidewalk and made a lamppost or two collapse. “What the…” he murmured, squinting. He finished the job and let the Rooks deal with the goods, zipping to a rooftop to see smoke still curling through the air. It was near the Thames.

“Might as well investigate,” Jacob murmured to himself, leaping over rooftops.

The sight that met him was horrific; an entire warehouse was aflame, thick black smoke escaping where it could. Jacob’s eyes widened, and he jumped down to the street as Rooks fled the building and _Oh God, this is one of our warehouses_. He rushed forward and began shouting orders, Rooks coughing.

“Is everyone out? Annalee, is everyone out?” He shouted above the din and the Rook shook her head.

“Th-There were people on the-” She broke off to cough. “T-Top floor, back, we- we couldn’t-”

Jacob took off, but was grabbed by a larger, more muscular Rook. “Let go!” He shouted. “Let _go_ , there are still- There’s still _people_ -!”

“Jacob if you go in there, you won’t come out!” The Rook snapped, dragging him away. “We’re working on it, but if you don’t come out-”

“Let _go_!” Jacob elbowed him in the stomach and pushed away, zipping up the side of the building, breaking a window to get in and getting a face full of smoke.

It burned his eyes and throat and lungs, and he almost lost his grip on the side of the building, but turned on his Vision and went in, covering his mouth and nose.

There was screaming and Jacob moved, shouting and trying to reach the dim green sparks around the floor that kept vanishing until he came face-to-face with someone, their light dimming.

“G-Get out of-” He coughed and pushed Jacob towards the window. “Get out of h-h-” He fell to his knees and Jacob tried to pull him back, but his eyes were watering and he couldn’t _see_. He looked around desperately, but there was no more light to be seen beyond the vicious flames and the white of the windows.

Jacob fled, going to the next building before leaping back to the ground. People were crying and screaming and someone grabbed him, shouting at him and pulling him away from the scene, away from the devastation.

Somehow, he ended up in Wynert’s office again, Evie putting her hand in his for silent reassurance. It was quiet except for the ticking of a clock on the mantel. Jacob blinked slowly and looked down at the cup of coffee someone had made for him.

“…How did this happen?” Evie asked. Her voice was quiet. Tired, but he was sure he was the only one who heard that. He had no idea what time it was.

“We’re still trying to figure that out,” Wynert said, standing at the window. “We’ve got some Rooks coming over after, so we’ll see if they have any idea what happened.”

Evie nodded and gave Jacob a worried look. Jacob knew he should say something, but instead just looked at the coffee in his hands. It was cold now, he was sure.

After some time, Wynert was called out by his manager. They talked quietly and Evie tried to get up to join them, but Jacob squeezed her hand, begging her to stay without words. She looked at him, frowned a little, and settled back down, brushing her shoulder against his and leaning ever so slightly against him.

Wynert came back, looking stony-faced, and closed the door behind him.

“What’s the news?” Evie said. Wynert sighed and ran his fingers through his hair.

“According to some people at the scene, there was a cargo delivery this morning; something that they’d stolen from the Blighters. Packages, they hadn’t opened them yet.” Wynert looked over at them. “From the looks of it, they were experimental explosives for Starrick. Something set them off, we don’t know what. The scene is still crawling with police, so we can’t do any real investigation until they leave.”

Jacob’s heart dropped and his cup hit the floor and coffee went everywhere, but he hardly noticed. He groaned and buried his face in his hands. “Oh my _God_ , this is all my fault.”

Evie looked at him as Wynert grabbed something to mop up the spilled coffee. “What? How? Did you know this was going to happen?”

He shook his head. “I got- I got information that Starrick was receiving an important delivery by boat,” he said. “I intercepted it and had them- We stole it, I didn’t even- We didn’t even know what it _was_ , just that it would be a blow to Starrick not to receive it! I figured it was something valuable, maybe something we could _use_ -”

Jacob choked and doubled over. Their blood was on his hands, _he_ was the reason this had happened, there could be no doubt about it. He lost track of what was happening, but Evie pulled him from Wynert’s office and they somehow ended back on the train, curled up on the sofa together. Jacob was sooty, Evie made sure to let him know. He didn’t care. He didn’t reply.

“Okay,” she said softly, carding her fingers though his hair. “You take the bed tonight.”

He shook his head slowly. “I-” He swallowed thickly. “I need to- I need to take a walk.”

Evie looked concerned, but let him get up. “Change your clothes,” she said. “And wash your face, please. Eat something.”

Jacob made a noncommittal noise, not doing any of these things before getting off at the next station. He was surprised to see it was already dark out, and pulled his hood up as he went towards the Strand. He climbed up the side of the Alhambra and found that Roth’s window was open for him. The man in question was nowhere to be seen, but the door was ajar, and piano music floated in.

He shuffled across the room, following the music until he found Roth sitting at a piano, looking down at his hands while he played. Jacob stopped at the door and Roth stopped playing, muttering something under his breath as he reached up to the music he had set up, and made a note. Jacob knocked on the doorframe and Roth looked up.

“Ah. Hello, darling.”

Jacob said nothing, but his eyes fell from Roth’s face. Roth frowned and got up. “Jacob?”

He shook his head and Roth came over, placing a hand on Jacob’s shoulder, leading him back to the bedroom, calling down the stairs, “Lewis, be a dear and make up a tray of tea for my guest and me, please. Thank you, Lewis.”

He had Jacob sit on the edge of the bed and sat down next to him, taking his hands. “I heard about the explosion,” he said, his voice filled with sorrow.

“It’s my fault,” Jacob said. “I- You were right. I should have just destroyed them on the docks.”

Roth pulled him close. “I usually am, darling. But you’ll do better next time, I’m sure.”

Jacob nodded and realized he was shaking. “I- It’s _my fault_.”

“And next time, you’ll take my advice, and such things can be avoided.” Roth reached up and started unbuttoning Jacob’s coat. “I’m glad you’re taking responsibility for the consequences of your actions, Jacob. Have you eaten anything since this morning?”

Jacob couldn’t remember. He felt too sick with himself, and breakfast seemed like a lifetime ago. “I’m not hungry.” He wanted to kill something, do something _useful_ , not just sit there and-

Roth hummed disapprovingly, breaking his train of thought. “Wait here for me, darling, I’ll be back in just a moment. Change into my dressing gown, your clothes are covered in soot.”

He placed the dressing gown next to Jacob on the bed and left the room, calling, “Leila! Leila, darling, could you draw a bath please? And tell Lewis to add a slice of that tart to the tea I asked for? Thank you.”

Jacob got off and took off his coat, leaving it and the rest of his clothes in a lump on the floor. He pulled the dressing gown on and stood at the window. God, he was an _idiot_ , why hadn’t he looked into what the hell he was taking before he took it? He wouldn’t be surprised if every Rook involved blamed him.

Roth placed a hand on his shoulder. “Jacob?”

“What?” Jacob snarled turning. Roth pulled back and narrowed his eyes.

“Leila is drawing you a bath, so you can wash off that soot.”

“ _Who_?”

Roth looked almost disappointed. “Really, Jacob. It’s the maid’s name. It doesn’t matter,” he decided suddenly when he realized Jacob wasn’t invested in the answer. He picked up Jacob’s clothes from the floor and put the by the door to be taken when there was a knock.

“Ah, Lewis, put that on the table, please. Thank you, goodnight.”

Lewis nodded, glancing at Jacob for a brief moment before bowing out, closing the door behind him. Roth moved to the table and poured Jacob some tea. Jacob stared out the window again until Roth returned.

“Did you know?” Jacob asked. “Did you know it was explosives?”

“I thought it might be something of the sort,” Roth said. “Starrick rarely tells me what it is my men are shipping around for him, after St. Pancras.”

“And you didn’t _tell_ me?” Jacob said, whipping around to look at him, almost knocking the cup of tea out of his hands.

Roth slapped him, hard, across the cheek, sending Jacob reeling back. “Jacob, I _did_ try to tell you, but you were apparently too busy to listen to what I was telling you. I don’t know _why_ you asked me for my advice on the docks if you were simply going to do things your own way. I know you’re upset, but do _not_ take this out on me, do you understand? This was not _my_ shortcoming.”

Jacob stared at him, a hand pressed to where Roth had hit him. _Had_ Roth told him what the delivery was going to be? He couldn’t remember, but then, it wouldn’t have been the first time he had missed such information, either from Evie or his Father, or… Jacob swallowed and dropped his gaze.

“I- I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t- I didn’t-”

“No, you _did_.” Roth replied shortly, handing him his tea. “But I forgive you this time, if only because I know you’re clearly not thinking clearly at the moment, are you?”

Jacob winced and sipped his tea and didn’t reply. Roth moved away. “I’m going to finish my piano piece,” he said. “Eat that there, and take the bath. Either come find me when you’ve finished and calmed down, or stay in bed and wait for me.”

Roth left, firmly closing the door behind him, just short of slamming it. Jacob still flinched, and he hugged himself around the middle with his free hand, fingers clutching at the dressing gown. The place where Roth had struck him still stung, but in all his years of being an assassin, he’d certainly had worse. Roth was right, too, he thought, sipping at his tea. He shouldn’t have taken out his grief and anger on Roth. It wasn’t his fault this had happened; it was his own fault.

He finished the tea and went to pour himself another cup, eating a few bites of the tart. He truly _wasn’t_ hungry. He bathed, wondering not for the first time if he had ever bathed so often in his life, then pulled Roth’s dressing gown back on. He could hear him fiddling around on the piano, but wondered if his presence would be welcomed.

Jacob _did_ feel a little calmer now. He decided to risk it and went to the door, finding it closed. He hesitated only a moment longer before knocking, gently.

“Come in, Jacob,” came Roth’s voice, and Jacob opened the door. Roth tapped something else out on the keys. “Feeling better?”

“Er… Yes. A little. Thank you.” Jacob felt a little foolish, wondering why he hadn’t just waited for Roth to go back to the bedroom. “I’m sorry for snapping at you,” he said, measuring his words carefully. “That was… childish.”

Roth straightened and turned on the bench to look at him. “Indeed, it was. But I already told you that I forgave you, Jacob. Did you not believe me?”

“I-” Jacob swallowed. “I did,” he said. “But I just… wanted to apologize. Properly.”

Roth’s face softened a little into a smile and he beckoned Jacob to come closer. “I certainly appreciate the gesture.” He glanced out the window. “It’s getting late, isn’t it, my boy?”

“It is,” Jacob replied. Roth stood.

“Then let’s away to bed. You look exhausted and could use the sleep.” Roth took Jacob’s hand, lacing their fingers together and they walked back to the bedroom. Jacob felt a sense of relief when Roth simply turned out the light, not expecting anything more from him. But although he soon heard Roth’s breath slow and deepen, Jacob remained painfully, exhaustingly, awake.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More slang in this chapter! "Selling me a dog" means pulling my leg, messing with me, or that sort of thing.
> 
> Please be aware, the next chapter will have some heavier content.

Ned Wynert was many things. A criminal, definitely, a murderer when it couldn’t be avoided, a liar when he needed to be. He wasn’t by any means an honest man.

But dammit all, he wasn’t a _cheat_. Except for when he was, but he really didn’t like cheating people out of their share unless they deserved it, and the Frye twins absolutely _hadn’t_ deserved this. After all, it wasn’t _their_ fault one of the Rook warehouses had exploded and killed a total of fifteen Rooks, no matter what Jacob thought.

So _maybe_ it had been a little reckless not to check what was being delivered before he sent it off with his people, but Ned couldn’t blame him; he often asked the twins not to look into what they were destroying or otherwise stealing for him. And Jacob clearly hadn’t known it was going to explode. No one had.

Overall, Ned didn’t blame him, but still needed to pay him for the jobs he did. Thus, he poked his head into his manager’s office. “Hey Isaac, cancel my appointments for tonight, I’m doing a thing. And I’m taking lunch off.

“Ned Wynert? Taking a break? Color me shocked.” Isaac gave Ned an amused look. “Bring me back a bottle of something, alright?”

“You’re _working_ ,” Ned replied, raising an eyebrow.

“Only until you come back, I’ve got stuff to do.”

Ned rolled his eyes. “No promises,” he said and left, heading to the nearest station to wait for the Frye Express to roll in. It did, right on time, and Ned boarded, greeting several Rooks on his way in. Unfortunately, neither Evie nor Jacob were around.

He decided to wait, helping himself to one of Henry’s novels. He flipped through it, a little disinterested, until he heard thumping on the roof of the car. Jacob soon appeared in the door, looking surprised to see him. Ned tipped his hat. “Afternoon, Frye. You doing alright?”

“Fine,” Jacob said in that way that usually indicated the speaker was not. Ned raised an eyebrow, but before he said anything, Jacob said, “Can I help you?”

“Not really, just came by to give you your cut,” Ned said, pulling an envelope from inside his coat. “With everything going on, I forgot to pay you.” Jacob took it and shoved it carelessly in his coat pocket without opening it.

“That all?” Jacob asked.

Ned hesitated. He didn’t want to outright say Jacob looked like shit, but he looked like shit, especially with bags under his eyes. Oh, who was he kidding he was Ned Wynert, he did what he wanted. “You look like shit, Frye,” he said bluntly. “Let me buy you a few drinks.”

Jacob looked up. “No thanks, Wynert. Any jobs for me today?”

“Take the day off. I sent your sister out before I left the office. Come on, Frye, my treat. Drinks. You can pick the place, if you want. Otherwise, I know a nice place up by-”

“Alright, _alright_.” Jacob huffed. “I can hardly say no to drinks I don’t have to pay for. I know a place, it’s a bit of a walk, but it’s… discreet. Loud, but no one notices you in the corner.”

Ned shrugged. “Your pick, I’ll try anywhere once.”

Jacob flashed him a smile, the first Ned had seen since the morning before, which was unusual for Jacob. Usually he was all smiles, all the time; it usually just depended on what _kind_ of smile it was.

They got off at the next station and Jacob led the way through the streets, his hands in his pockets, gazing up at the sky. It was growing dark, threatening rain at any moment. Ned wished he’d thought to bring an umbrella and pulled his hat lower over his eyes.

“Ah, here we are.” Jacob stopped in front of a shabby-looking bar, cheering and loud noise coming from within. Ned almost instantly regretted letting Jacob choose once they were inside; it as _packed_ with people, and Ned had a hard time getting through the mob to the bar. He was a little frazzled when he got there, but straightened and caught the bartender’s eye.

“A scotch for me, and whatever this gentleman’s having,” Ned said, hoping his voice rose above the din.

“Yessir,” the bartender said and looked at Jacob.

“Regular for me, Harry,” Jacob said, and received a beer in a bottle. Ned received his drink and they went to the only empty corner. Ned wrinkled his nose as Jacob took a swig and Jacob raised an eyebrow. “Got a problem there, Wynert?”

“I just… can’t believe you _drink_ that. It’s worse than piss.”

Both of Jacob’s eyebrows went up and he grinned. “Talking from experience? What bet did _you_ lose?” He took another swig.

“I bet that someone I knew couldn’t talk his way into getting every bartender at this one bar to give him a drink on the house.”

Jacob almost spat out his drink, managed to swallow, and burst out laughing. “ _What_? When was that?”

“Eighteen-fifty… _nine_ , thereabouts,” Ned said, sipping his scotch. “It was really stupid. He did it, obviously. Left all of us in awe.”

Jacob was half-smiling. “You’re selling me a dog, aren’t you,” he said. “That’s not true, there’s no _way_ that’s true.”

Ned grinned. “Alright, technically it _happened_ , but not quite that context.” He took another sip and added, “ _I_ was the one getting the drinks. My associate was the moron who bet against me.”

Jacob laughed again, but it soon died down, his smile slipping away again as he looked at his bottle. Ned wasn’t really sure what to say, so finally blurted out, “Your sister told me there’s a sort of wake happening tonight. For the fallen Rooks.”

“Hm.” Jacob frowned. “I heard that too. Remind me where?”

“Around Lambeth somewhere. I wrote it down somewhere, but your sister knows. I assume you’re going?”

Jacob nodded slowly, but wouldn’t meet Ned’s eyes. Ned sighed and took his glasses off briefly, ribbing his eyes. “Frye, you know no one blames you, right? There were so many other people who could have and _should_ have checked what those packages were. I investigated a little further; according to _everyone_ , all you did was kill the Blighters, made sure the packages got loaded safely, then left the rest to the Rooks.”

“Yes, but _I’m_ their leader,” Jacob said. “They probably thought I knew what they were transporting, because why else would I ask them to take it? If they don’t already blame me, then they _should_. It was a stupid mistake, and I can’t make those kinds of mistakes, else other people _pay_.”

“That’s…” Ned huffed and put his glasses on. “Yeah, okay, it was a stupid mistake. But you know what? They happen. And yeah, sometimes other people pay for you, and it sucks. But they’re _mistakes_ , and you weren’t the only person who made it this time. Plenty of people could have checked that, and you know what happens? _Everyone_ feels like they could have done something. Heck, that’s probably true.

“So yeah, you made a stupid mistake, and it’ll probably happen again, but feeling guilty about it isn’t going to bring those people back. So instead of feeling guilty—which helps _no one_ , least of all _you_ —figure out what the hell went wrong, and make sure it doesn’t happen again. Go to the wake, hear what people have to say, get top-heavy, maybe go to a fight club after and get hit a few times, then sleep it off and report to me tomorrow. I’ll make sure to have something for you to do.”

Jacob was blinking at him. “You don’t seem the type to give advice often, Wynert,” he said. Ned snorted.

“I don’t. But I’m damn good at it, if I say so myself. I impress myself sometimes.” Ned continued with his drink. “Go to the wake. And I’ll be looking for you, so don’t skip out on me, eh?”

Jacob’s lip twitched. “I wouldn’t dream of it, Wynert,” he said. He finished his beer and pulled out his hat, popping it out and putting it on. “I’ve got some things to take care of,” he said. “But… Thank you for this.”

“Leaving already? What, got a hot date or something?” Ned asked and Jacob, to his utter surprise, blushed. “I- Well. Not _exactly_.”

 _He’s seeing someone,_ Ned thought, his eyebrows raising as he smiled in amusement. “Well, fine, then,” he said, making it clear he didn’t believe him. “Have fun.”

“I’m _not_ ,” Jacob insisted.

“I believe you. Have a good day, Frye. I’ll see you tonight.”

Jacob tipped his hat and left, slipping almost seamlessly into the crowd. Ned looked back down at his drink, half-empty, and mused. He wasn’t sure why, but the knowledge that Jacob was seeing someone was… depressing. Sure, it explained the irritatingly good mood he’d been in for the past few weeks; Ned wasn’t sure how he hadn’t seen it before.

Ned huffed, irritated with himself. Jacob was young, he was _nineteen_ for God’s sake. Sure, he could admit that Jacob was very attractive—with his stupid damnable smirks and puppy-dog eyes—and he did good work. But that was _no reason_ , Ned thought, for him to feel like he’d just missed out on a rather large shipment of valuable jewels.

 _He’s a person, dammit Ned, get it together,_ he thought. People rarely liked him in that sense, but he thought by now he’d hardened himself enough to stop little feelings like _infatuation_ get in the way. Instead, he decided he was glad Jacob was happy; happy people usually did better work, and if there was one thing Ned absolutely hated, it was incompetent people. It was one of the reasons Ned paid his workers well.

“Huh. Lucky lady,” Ned muttered to himself. He knocked back the rest of his drink, bought a beer for Isaac, and left, trying to hurry back to his office before it began to rain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who left comments and kudos!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: there is physical and emotional abuse in this chapter. This is _not_ BDSM, which _must always_ be safe, sane, and consensual. This is abuse, pure and simple.

Jacob _did_ go to the wake. He went with Evie and spoke only when he had to, having a few drinks and was overall _sad_. He didn’t like it. He didn’t like it one bit, but saw Wynert slip in and sit in a corner. He thought about joining him, but decided against it. He left as soon as Evie said it was appropriate to leave, and made his way to Roth’s theater.

“Ah! Jacob, m’boy!” He said, smiling when Jacob came in through the window. He paused as Jacob got closer and tilted his head. “Are you drunk, darling?”

“No,” Jacob said. “Just… There was a wake tonight. I had a few drinks.”

Roth frowned a little. “You sound terribly upset,” he said. “…Would you _like_ to get drunk?”

Jacob thought about it, but not for long, before nodding. “ _Absolutely_ ,” he said and flopped down into a chair and put his head in his arms. Roth hummed.

“That badly, hm? Gin it is.” Roth soon placed a generous glass in front of him and Jacob knocked it back a little more quickly than he should have, making a face and coughing. Roth picked up the bottle and sat down, crossing his legs, sipping and refilling Jacob’s glass when necessary until Jacob couldn’t quite remember who was sitting across from him.

“Izz juss’at,” he slurred, “I shou’ve paid f’it, since izz _my_ mi’take.”

Roth blinked at him and took a slow sip from his bottle. “Jacob, I have no idea what we’re talking about.”

 “It shou’ve been _me_ ,” Jacob insisted. “’N th’ explosh’n. ‘S _my_ fault.”

“Ah.” Roth took another sip. “You don’t feel as if you’ve been suitably punished.”

Jacob buried his face in his arms and whined. No, he _hadn’t_ been, those lives lost were on him, and no one was blaming him for it, it was _infuriating_. He tried to relay this to Roth, who nodded as he refilled Jacob’s glass.

“Is that something you would like to remedy?”

“Mm?” Jacob opened an eye to look at him.

“Punishment, Jacob,” Roth said, sipping. “You want someone to punish you for what you’ve done?”

Did he? Jacob frowned. That sounded right to him, but Roth was also becoming little more than a blur in his vision. He nodded and Roth smiled, sending both a warm and chilling feeling through Jacob.

“I could be that someone, if you would like,” Roth offered. “It wouldn’t be pleasant, but then, punishments rarely are, don’t you think?”

 _That_ was true, Jacob thought, nodding again. How many times had he been disciplined by various mentors for disobedience, or because he hadn’t taken the consequences of his actions seriously?

“Good. I think you’ll feel better once we’re done. _Free_ of your guilt. Come.” He put his bottle aside and went around the table to help Jacob to his feet, bringing him to the bed and somehow wrestling off his clothes.

Jacob mumbled, “You _like_ me.”

“Yes, darling, I do indeed,” Roth replied. “And remember, this only comes from my warm regard for you.”

Jacob hummed and let Roth position him face down on the bed, pulling his arms up. Jacob closed his eyes and tried curling up, but realized he couldn’t move. Not for a lack of trying, he’d been restrained. He blinked and turned his head. “…Roth?” He mumbled.

“This will be over soon, my dear,” Roth said, somewhere behind and above him. Something cold was placed against Jacob’s back and he squirmed a little—or tried to—before it was gone again.

There was a _swoosh_ , a _crack!_ And then Jacob’s eyes snapped open and he took a long, sharp intake of breath. Before he could properly react, it happened again, striking his back and blowing the air right out of him as he tried to get up. Again, on his thigh, and he cried out.

He didn’t know how long it went on for, only that it _hurt_ and seemed to go on forever at a steady rhythm until he was screaming and crying. He could only think that maybe he was going to die, maybe he would pass out, oh _God_ , he hoped he would pass _out_ …

“Shh, Jacob, it’s over,” Roth said, sitting down beside him and gently, stroking a hand over his hair. “You did so well, my darling. Let me untie you.”

His hands and legs were released and Jacob curled up, unable for the life of him to stop crying and shaking. Roth all but pulled him onto his lap, gently stroking his shoulders and pressing kisses to his face, wiping away his tears.

“Shh, everything’s safe, darling, you’re safe. It’s only me,” Roth murmured. “You took that very well. I knew you could do it, you’re so good to me. This was only a punishment, Jacob. I care about you so much, so much more than anyone else.”

Jacob couldn’t form words, couldn’t think properly. Roth cared about him? Yes, that’s right, he wasn’t angry; this was a punishment, for… What was it for again? The Rooks, something about the- Yes, of course, the explosion. He cried harder and Roth pulled him closer. His back hurt, his legs hurt, everything _hurt_ , but Roth was warm, and safe, and telling him everything was going to be alright. Gradually, his tears slowed.

“Here, darling, let me fetch you a glass of water, hmm? You’ll feel better after.” Roth gently leaned him against the headboard and Jacob stared at nothing. His vision was blurry and his throat was dry. Roth returned and pressed the glass to his lips, and he drank gratefully, some of the water sloshing out the sides. “Well, there’s that drinking problem of yours,” Roth murmured, wiping up the spilled water and Jacob gave a weak giggle. “Ahh, there you are, darling. Shall we go to bed?”

Jacob nodded and Roth joined him in bed, pulling him close once more. Silent tears continued to leak from Jacob’s eyes, but Roth was there, telling him how wonderful he was, how _good_ he was, and whispered sweet nothings until he fell asleep.

When Jacob awoke, everything ached. His head, his back, his ass, his legs, _everything_. He groaned and even _that_ hurt. He didn’t want to move or breath, or really be alive. At least he was comfortable, despite the fact that the rest of his world was nothing but pain. He wondered if he fell off a building.

“Jacob?” A voice said, too loudly, and he curled up into a tighter ball. He registered someone sitting on the edge of the bed beside him, lightly touching his shoulder. “Are you awake?”

“ _Kill me_ ,” Jacob groaned, and instantly regretted it. Roth laughed softly.

“I’m afraid not,” Roth said, almost apologetically. “You’ve already slept most of the day away. It’s a quarter past three.”

It took a few moments for this to register with Jacob, but when it did, his eyes snapped open and he sat up, saying “ _What_?” Again, he regretted this when everything seemed to explode. He pressed his hands over his temples and squeezed his eyes shut. He tried remembering what had happened the night before.

“You hit me,” he mumbled when he could. “You _beat_ me. With…” He wasn’t even sure.

“A cane,” Roth supplied calmly. He handed Jacob a glass of water.

“You _caned me_!”

Roth looked at him reproachfully. “You asked me to. As punishment for your… _mistake_. Now drink that.”

Jacob looked into the glass of water and sipped at it. He’d never had a hangover like this in his life, but the room was dimly lit, and there was very little noise. When he finished the water, Roth brought him something to eat. Jacob didn’t even know what it was, but he ate it, not really tasting it. He wanted to go back to sleep and Roth smoothed back his hair, kissing his forehead.

“Alright, Jacob. Shall I wake you for dinner?” He asked. Jacob nodded and laid back down, falling asleep again almost instantly.

True to his word, Roth woke him for dinner. Jacob ate, then went to the bathroom, wishing he could stop aching. He turned around and looked over his shoulder to look at his back in the mirror, wincing at the sight; his back and ass and legs were an ugly patchwork of blue, black, and purple.

Part of him wondered if he should be angry at Roth. But, he _had_ asked for this, hadn’t he? And, as Jacob recalled, they had _both_ been drinking. Perhaps neither of them were thinking clearly, but as Jacob looked at the mess that was his bod, the only thing he could think was, _Good_. It had been a punishment after all, and justice had been served.

…Then why did he still feel so _awful_?

He finished in the bathroom and got dressed. Roth paused in what he was doing. “Are you leaving?” He asked.

“I- Evie’ll be worried,” he said, looking down at his feet. He wondered if she _would_ actually be worried, or if she’d just be irritated. Roth sighed, sounding a little disappointed.

“I understand,” he said, rising and kissing Jacob goodbye. “Come by again soon, darling. Goodnight.”

“G’night.” Jacob used the front door this time, unsure if he could focus properly to climb. He made his way to the closest train station and waited until their train came rolling through. He hopped on and made his way towards his and Evie’s car, groaning slightly when he noticed the light still on inside. She was _waiting_ for him, her anger rolling off of her in waves.

“Where the _hell_ have you been?” She snapped when she saw him, getting up. “No one’s seen you since _last night_ , I thought maybe you’d died in a ditch!”

“Oh, I would _never_ allow myself to die like that,” Jacob replied, putting on a smile. “Where’s the drama? The _glory_? The-”

“Oh, don’t get smart with me,” Evie said. “You know Wynert was looking for you today? Apparently you promised to do some jobs for him today.”

Jacob’s heart dropped. _Shit_. He had, hadn’t he? He had completely forgotten. He shrugged. “I’ll just go in tomorrow and apologize, Evie, it’s _fine_. He can go a day without our help, he’s not some damsel in distress.”

“Jacob! That’s not the point!” She said. “You can’t just- just _vanish_ off the face of the earth! What if something had happened? You can’t _do_ things like this, this being completely reckless and irresponsible-”

“Yeah, alright, _Father_ ,” Jacob snarked. “Next time I’ll _absolutely_ take that to heart, just as I have _every other_ fucking time someone’s-”

Evie hit him. It wasn’t as hard as he knew she could punch, but he stumbled back, completely disarmed, and blinked at her. She was practically _shaking_ with anger now. He knew he should apologize to her; that had been a shitty thing to say, and Evie had always been closer to their Father. She was clearly upset.

Instead, he made matters worse by saying, “Ah- _hah_! _Now_ who’s letting their emotions overrule their head?”

Evie’s lips thinned and she gave him a disgusted look, swallowing once before turning and walking away. Jacob huffed and flopped down on the sofa, wincing when his back complained. He turned to his side, facing away from the world, and rubbed at his jaw and kicking off his boots.

“ _Women_ ,” he muttered, and pulled his coat about him. He was still awake by the time Evie came back, and he knew she knew he was awake. Without a word to him, she turned out the light and got into bed. When he glanced back at her, he noticed that her back was turned to him as well.

Well, let it not say he didn’t get what he deserved, Jacob though and turned back to his original position, wishing desperately that he had stayed with Roth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who left kudos and comments!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: this chapter contains transphobic slurs. Please remember that Roth's views were acceptable for the time, and do not reflect our own personal views of the trans community. Thank you.

Evie was gone by the time Jacob woke up, but that wasn’t unusual. The fact that she hadn’t left a note only further amplified her anger at him, although Jacob couldn’t really blame her. If he were a better person, he might go find her and apologize, but knowing his sister, he knew she’d be distant for a few weeks before choosing to pretend it hadn’t happened. That, and he really didn’t want her to punch him again.

He went to Wynert’s office, and told him most of the truth: “I got incredibly drunk, passed out, and didn’t wake up until the evening.”

Wynert stared at him, blinked, then narrowed his eyes. “And how does that explain why you’re walking like you’re hurt?”

Jacob shifted. “I, um… fell off a building. Because I thought it would be a good idea to, er, freerun. While drunk. Or maybe I went to the fight club?” He shook his head and shrugged, hoping it looked convincing. “I don’t remember. I might’ve gone to the fight club.”

Wynert snorted. “Alright,” he said. “Happens to… Well, the best of Assassins, I guess. Here’s the jobs I need done today. Lambeth, Whitechapel, and Southwark.”

Jacob accepted the jobs, glad that Wynert didn’t push further. They were on the easy side, but his back complained every time he bumped his bruises into something. When he finished, he roamed the city for more to do, helping out random people and escorting more of Wynert’s cargo. He even snuck on a train at one point, pulling his hood up and being as quiet as he could, covering a Blighter’s mouth before pushing his blade into his back. He was dead before he realized what was happening.

There was always a rush of adrenalin before and after a kill that Jacob always had a hard time deciding whether or not he enjoyed. He’d been told many times before that to take pleasure in his work was frowned upon for the Assassins; they did it for the good of the world, because sometimes people _had_ to die. Jacob wasn’t quite sure if he believed that, but spilling the blood of people he knew wouldn’t hesitate to kill more of his Rooks didn’t really make him miss any sleep.

The first time he had killed someone, he and Evie were fourteen years old. It was what they had trained for; it felt horrible at first, but the rush of giddiness that went with it made up for it. It was almost addictive, he didn’t think he’d be able to stop if he tried. It was grim, perhaps, but the truth. The only thing he didn’t enjoy was making people suffer. Clean, painless deaths were preferable, and left little fuss. And dead people rarely called other people for help. That, in Jacob’s opinion, was the best part.

At the end of the day, he ended up not going back to Roth, simply because the moment he collapsed back on his sofa on the train, he passed out. When he woke, someone had thrown a blanket over him and left him a pastry. He wasn’t sure if it was Evie or Henry, but he appreciated it and inhaled the food.

He did some more missions for Wynert, saw Darwin and followed the strange old man around, marveling at his weirdness. He liked Darwin, eccentric as he was, and the old man seemed to put up with him, which was enough for Jacob to spend time with him. Darwin bought him a drink and told him about some of his travels and telling him about a gigantic tortoise he had met along the way.

He also apparently ate one of every animal he came across. That was a little too strange for Jacob’s tastes, and he excused himself shortly after. As he walked off, some Rooks caught sight of him and grabbed him off the streets, apparently happy to see him and asking where he’d been for the past few days.

“We were gettin’ a little worried there,” Darleen said, elbowing Jacob gently in the ribs, Barney putting an arm around Jacob’s shoulders. Harris slapped him painfully on the back, although Jacob suspected if he hadn’t already been bruised, it wouldn’t have hurt. He hardly winced though, and made his excuses. They seemed to buy it and went to free some children from a factory for Clara.

She thanked them when she received the children, and waited for the Rooks to walk off a bit before slipping Jacob a _very_ nice belt. “Jus’ a little somethin’ extra,” she said with a wink and walked off again. Jacob put it on, liking the way it looked, and went back to his Rooks. He ended up sleeping in a dogpile in one of the hideouts, sending someone to let Evie know where he was, telling himself it was because he didn’t want her to continue giving him grief about his “unhealthy and reckless habits.”

The night after that, he went back to Roth. His lover smiled when he saw him, taking a cigar out of his mouth. “Ah! There you are, darling. I thought perhaps I’d scared you away,” he said. Jacob gave him a small smile.

“Scare me? Come now, I’m not _that_ easy to scare, I assure you.”

“Good, good!” Roth put out his cigar and said, “Why don’t we go out? It’s been an age and I’ve been cooped up here all day. What do you say?”

Jacob agreed and Roth clapped his hands together. “Excellent! Lewis! The carriage, if you please!”

It felt odd, Jacob thought, leaving through the door. He went through the window usually to avoid bumping into Lewis; he had the vague sense the man didn’t like him. Lewis was waiting for them outside, holding the carriage door open. “Where to, Sir?” He asked, barely glancing at Jacob.

“Simpson’s, if you’d be so kind,” Roth replied. To Jacob he indicated the carriage. “After you, my dear.”

“Of course, Sir,” Lewis said, continuing to ignore Jacob and shutting the carriage door behind them. Roth sighed and settled down as the carriage lurched forward.

“Fine place, Simpson’s,” he told Jacob. “Get whatever you like.” He placed a hand on Jacob’s leg. “And when we get back, darling, I would very much like to bend you over a table.” His hand moved up Jacob’s leg and Jacob swallowed, trying not to react.

“You would, would you?” He replied, sitting back in his seat. Roth grinned and leaned in, cupping Jacob’s crotch.

“You have no idea how much,” Roth breathed into his ear and pressed a kiss to his jawline. Jacob shuddered, his resold failing. He, an Assassin, who could stay in position for _days_ on a mission, couldn’t last even two minutes against Maxwell Roth. _Oh dear, what would Father say?_ Jacob thought before remembering he didn’t care what his Father would have to say on the matter. He tilted his head, opening his neck to Roth, and was rewarded with a trail of open-mouthed kisses along his jaw and throat.

A well-timed squeeze from Roth’s hand had him bucking, and Roth huffed out a laugh. “Naughty,” he murmured. “Not yet, darling. Patience.” He removed himself completely from Jacob, leaning back in his seat and looking thoroughly satisfied with himself. Jacob held back a groan of discontentment and disappointment, but exhaled hard, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

“I can’t say patience is really my forte,” Jacob said, crossing his legs to try and give himself some relief. Roth only looked smugger as he noticed the gesture.

“There’s always time to learn,” he replied and Jacob made a rude hand-gesture at him. Roth only laughed, reaching out to pat his knee. “Soon, Jacob, never fear. I have something _planned_. Now, why don’t you tell me what you’ve been up to these past few days, hmm?”

Grateful for the distraction, Jacob told him, and continued to do so all the way into the restaurant, Roth listening with rapt attention, asking questions about the people Jacob spoke of.”

“You work for Ned Wynert, then?” He asked when Jacob paused to have some of his food. Jacob shrugged.

“Sort of. He has jobs for me, I do them, I get paid. He pays _really_ well.”

“Mm. I know Wynert,” Roth said. “The woman who masquerades as a man? The… Oh dear, what’s the word… Yes, the _she-male_ of London?”

Jacob frowned at Roth, swallowed, and said, “What?”

“Oh, don’t tell me you don’t _know_ , darling?” Roth said, looking surprised. “The woman who’s convinced she’s a man, commonly known as Ned Wynert, the owner and head of Wynert Enterprises?”

“…Wynert’s a bloke,” Jacob said. Roth laughed like he’d said something completely ridiculous, getting a few stares from the other restaurant-goers.

“Oh, Wynert may think of herself as such, and I have enough respect for ‘him’ to play along with ‘his’ little fantasy, but really Jacob? A man _that_ small with a voice _that_ high? Wynert can definitely get what she wants, but don’t let her façade fool you, Jacob; Wynert is _delusional_ if she truly thinks she’s a man like you and me. There’s a reason those with her… _condition_ are locked up.”

Jacob lowered his eyes and thought for a moment. “An, um… What _condition_ is that?”

“Gender identity disorder,” Roth replied easily. “Those who have it either never confess to it, or do and are locked away, retrained, and sometimes released, if they behave well.”

Jacob’s heart sank and he thought about Ned Wynert, and ate the rest of his food in silence. However, by the time dessert came, Roth’s hand was back on Jacob’s leg, and Ned Wynert moved to the back of his mind.

When they got back to the theater, Jacob was incredibly bothered again and was about ready to do anything Roth asked. He was surprised, however, when Roth led him to the stage rather than upstairs to his personal quarters.

“‘All the world’s a stage,’ Jacob.” He said, walking out, spreading his arms wide, voice amplified. “‘And all the men and women are merely players; they have exits and their entrances, and one man in his time plays many parts.’” Roth twirled on his foot to look back at Jacob, holding out a hand, all but beckoning him. Jacob grinned and clapped slowly.

“Wonderful,” he said. “What’s that, then?”

“Shakespeare, _As You Like It_ ,” Roth said, straightening up and fixing his scarf. “I’ve never read it, but I knew someone who would recite it before bed. The last few lines always _gets_ me.” Jacob raised an eyebrow in silent question and Roth continued, “‘Last scene of all, that ends this strange eventful history, is second childishness and mere oblivion; sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.’”

“Lovely,” Jacob said, his trousers feeling incredibly tight. “But you said you wanted to try something?”

Roth laughed. “Not one for the theater, hm?” He approached Jacob and tried to kiss him, but Jacob pulled away.

“Roth, we’re on the _stage_ -”

“Oh, but weren’t you listening, darling?” Roth said. “We’re _always_ on stage. But if getting caught is what you’re worried about, well, what’s life without a bit of risk, eh? And what’s this ‘Roth’ business? You’ve more than earned the right to call me Maxwell, I think.”

“Yes, but- _Here_? On stage?”

“Why not?” Roth said, tilting his head ever so. “Come now, it’s just a bit of fun.” Jacob hesitated, perhaps a little too long, because Roth’s face fell and he backed away, almost stiffly. “Well, if you don’t _want_ to,” he started, but Jacob was quick to interrupt.

“No! No, I’ll do it,” he said and started taking his jacket off. “Maxwell.”

Roth’s whole demeanor changed, the stiffness melting away as if it had never been. “That’s my boy!” He said. “Always up for anything, aren’t you?” He moved away to grab a chair from one of the wings. “As I said, I’ve something planned tonight. Sit down when you’re ready, darling, I’ll be back in a moment!”

He left Jacob standing in the middle of the stage. The theater was silent, save for Roth, whom Jacob could hear rummaging around backstage. Jacob swallowed and started to undress. The theater should be empty save for Leila and Lewis, and Roth usually let them have the night to themselves. He left his clothes in a neat pile and sat down, surprised that the chair was actually comfortable, if not a little worn.

Roth returned with several scarves, grinning and continuing to hum to himself as he knelt next to Jacob, binding his wrist to the arm of the chair. Jacob watched him. “Um,” he said.

“All part of the performance, my dear.” Roth said, pressing his lips to Jacob’s knuckle and starting in on the other wrist. His ankles were secured after and Jacob squirmed, but was unable to get free. Roth smoothed his hands over Jacob’s thighs, then got up, moving behind him. “Ladies and gentlemen!” He started. “Presenting, the pleasure of Jacob Ethan Frye!”

Jacob froze, scandalized, but all that managed to come out of his mouth was, “How do you know my middle name?”

Roth laughed and came up behind him, placing his hands on his shoulders and starting to massage. “Relax, my dear. You told me once when you were drunk.”

Jacob didn’t remember that, but knew himself well enough to know that was a likely scenario.  He slowly began to loosen up and Roth moved back in front of him, tracing his collarbone and tattoos and scars on his way down. He skipped over Jacob’s cock and traced along the insides of his thighs again, this time pressing and trying to loosen up the muscle before making his touch feather-light again.

Jacob let his head loll back, trying to get some relief. Roth moved between his legs, hands still pressed on his thighs, fingers stroking close, but _not close enough_ as he trailed kisses on Jacob’s exposed neck. He groaned and was mortified when the theater amplified it. Roth kissed his cheek. “Let me hear more, darling. Let me hear how much you _want_ this.”

“I- Ro- Maxwell, I-” Jacob now realized why Roth had bound him. He made a noise of frustration and Roth hummed in a most amused fashion.

“Say ‘please,’ darling, and I might consider it,” he said.

“I- _Please_ -”

Roth laughed and lifted his hands to Jacob’s face and looked him dead in the eye. “No.” He said and plundered Jacob’s mouth instead, hungrily. Jacob didn’t have the chance to fight back, almost crying out when Roth reached down, fingers ghosting over Jacob’s erection, trying to thrust into his hand.

“ _Maxwell, please_ ,” Jacob cried out, and _finally_ , Roth started rubbing his thumb over the head of Jacob’s cock in an almost painfully gentle circular motion. Jacob made a strangled noise and Roth’s mouth moved down so he could bite Jacob’s neck.

It wasn’t long before Jacob came, the theater amplifying his pleasure. He was shaking, hands gripping the arms of his chair. He felt dazed and unreal as Roth untied him and helped him to his feet, swaying a little as Roth moved behind him.

“Oh, look at _these_ ,” he murmured. He stroked the pattern of yellow and purple bruises still littering Jacob’s back. “Gorgeous, Jacob. You’re just _gorgeous_. Come now, let’s get you upstairs. I still have a table to bend you over, after all.”

Jacob thought perhaps he should be a little bit more concerned, but he felt like he was floating as Roth placed a hand on the small of his back, nudging him forward. He would gladly take what was coming, if it would make his lover happy.

Whatever it was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who left kudos!
> 
> Warning: the next chapter is pretty rough and involves explicit rape. If anyone doesn't think they can stomach reading it all the way through, but wants to continue reading, we can let you know what happens in the chapter so you stay updated.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! DaughterOfDungeonBat here with the first chapter I'm posting while AlwaysAmused is away!  
> On with the show!
> 
> Edit: This chapter is one of the most violent in the fic, and contains physical and emotional abuse from Roth. Please don't read if you think it'll make you upset.

“Jacob, could you do something for me?” Roth asked, taking a pipe out of his mouth and tilting his head ever so slightly. Jacob raised his eyebrows.

“Depends,” he said. “What do you want me to do?”

Roth smiled. “A small mission; there is blood to be let, and I cannot send my men and women out to do my bidding as I usually would. Indeed, it is my Blighters that are becoming the problem.”

“Oh?” Jacob asked. Roth nodded, looking a little distant.

“Starrick is going more and more behind my back, sending my Blighters out directly, rather than asking me to send them, as per our agreement. Indeed, I got word from one of my more loyal women that Starrick is sending people to recruit my people away from my gang and into the Templar Order.”

Jacob’s smile grew. “We can’t have _that_ , can we?”

Roth focused back on Jacob. “Ah, I knew you’d think so. According to my intel, there is to be a meeting tonight in the city.” He pulled a slip of paper out of his pocket and handed it out to Jacob. “This is the address. I’d very much like it if this didn’t get back to Starrick; it would mean he could trace this back to me. Kill as many as you can, but be discreet. This will send them the message they need; that the Templars are not nearly as strong as they think they are.”

Jacob took the address and memorized it quickly. He nodded and put it down. “I’ll report back here when I’ve finished,” he said. Roth smiled.

“Atta boy, Jacob! The meeting starts at half-one. Get there early and scope the area if you can, although I’ve heard this meeting is to be small gathering.” Roth kissed Jacob before he left, and teasingly swatted him on the behind as he went to leave. Roth only laughed when Jacob frowned at him and waved him off.

A little annoyed, but knowing he meant no harm, Jacob left. Finding the address of this meeting as not at all difficult; it took place in an abandoned, crumbling factory, and Jacob had no trouble finding a place to stake out in the rafters, unseen. Slowly, Blighters filled the place, and Jacob narrowed his eyes. This, he was sure, was not quite the “small gathering” Roth had told him about. It would be difficult to manage this many people.

…It would be quite _impossible_ to do as Roth had asked. Perhaps if he had more hallucinogenic darts, it could be _possible_ , but it risked having both the Blighters and the Templars discover him. And Jacob was quite sure they had more guns than he could dodge. The meeting hadn’t started yet, although from the clock on the wall, it would be starting soon.

The building itself was coming apart. It hadn’t been well-made, and it was damaged through water and neglect. It wouldn’t, he thought, be hard to collapse the entire building on top of these Blighters. But as he thought about it, the more Jacob thought it wouldn’t be enough.

Roth wanted him to send a message to the Blighters? A message would be sent, he thought as he spotted barrels of oil around the room. They seemed unopened, but he would have to check. Jacob lowly got down from the rafters and hid, opening the barrels and letting the oil seep across the floor. Some of the people seemed to notice, but as Jacob got back to the rafters, a Templar called their attention.

Jacob hardly paid attention to what was being said, but caught Roth’s name, along with the phrases “Homicidal maniac,” “Delusional old man,” and Jacob’s personal favorite, “Not fit to throw waste in the Thames.” He snorted at the final one and started working on the beams, trying to get them to break. They were so rotted out, it wasn’t a difficult task, and the whole building shifted.

Satisfied, Jacob returned to his perch near a window and pulled a box of matches out of his pocket. Lighting one, he let it drop to the floor to the oil below.

It must have gone out before hitting the ground, however, for nothing happened. With a sigh, Jacob tried again, to no avail. “Goddammit,” he muttered. He slowly made his way back down to light it directly. This time, it caught as it should, and Jacob used his zipline to get back to the rafters, and then out the window as the oil ignited.

Screaming started immediately and soon after, the building started to collapse. It was then that Jacob realized his fatal mistake.

He had forgotten to lock the doors to the building.

Cursing his own stupidity, he cocked his gun, going after the Templars. The building was soon engulfed in flames and although he was sure some had died, Blighters swarmed out of the building like confused fire ants. He shot at a box of explosives, missed, and continued going after the Templars instead.

He was, after all, still an Assassin. In the end, it was the Templars who were trying to take over the world, and the less of them there were, the better. He got to the ground and grabbed a carriage, heading after the Templars. With some regret, he shot their horses, causing them to trip-up and crash. After making sure he’d gotten them, he went back to where the Blighters had been. People were trying in vain to put out the fire, and the Blighters had dissipated to almost nothing. He killed the ones who were there, using his knives to avoid the noise.

There was nothing more to be done, Jacob thought as he went back to the rooftops. He had royally fucked this up, and Roth would know in an _instant_ , if he didn’t already. And knowing how many spies Roth had around, it was more than likely he _did_ already know. Jacob licked his lips and tugged down his hood, running his fingers through his hair as he thought about his options. He could either go back to Roth, submit to his anger, and hope for forgiveness; _or_ he could go back to the train, wait for Roth’s anger to simmer down, and _then_ go back to him.

With a sigh, Jacob slumped. No, he would have to go back. Avoiding Roth now would only make him angrier and the consequences worse. He went back to the Alhambra and decided the front door would be best. Lewis met him there and looked him over once. “Good day, Mr. Frye,” he said. Jacob threw on a grin.

“Lewis,” he replied. “I’m here to see Roth?”

“Hm. In his office, I think.” As Jacob walked in, Lewis added, “You should be warned, Mr. Frye, that when Roth is angry with one, he generally brings suffering to many.”

He closed the door behind Jacob and walked off before Jacob could figure out how to reply. Dread building in the pit of his stomach, Jacob set off for Roth’s office. The door was closed—an unusual happening—and thus he knocked on the door.

“A moment,” came Roth’s voice. Jacob waited outside the door, startling when it opened and he came face-to-face with a woman in red, similar to what the blighters wore, but more discreet. She looked Jacob up and down once over, closing the door behind her, before giving him a pitying look.

“Mr. Roth will see you in a moment,” she said and brushed past him, giving his shoulder a little pat. He turned to watch her leave before looking back at the door. Just when he was wondering whether or not to knock again, Roth finally called for him to enter.

Roth said nothing as Jacob entered, not looking up from what he was doing. Jacob closed the door behind him and almost had to _make_ himself walk towards the desk, feeling rather like a child again. Ha shifted his weight from foot to foot, keeping his gaze down.

“Go to the bedroom and wait for me there. I want you on your knees.” Roth still wasn’t looking at him when Jacob’s eyes snapped up him again. His voice was cold and it sent chills up Jacob’s spine. “I don’t think I need tell you what to do when you get there.”

“Yes, sir,” Jacob replied. He lowered his gaze again and walked off to the bedroom. He closed the door behind him and looked around the room. The curtains were open, and there was a certain stillness about the room, save for the clock ticking quietly against a wall. Jacob took a deep breath and walked towards the window, peering down and out at the street for a moment before yanking the curtains closed.

Slowly, he started to undress, folding his clothes with a military perfection before placing them in a stack on a nearby chair. And then, on his knees, he waited, listening only to the constant _tick, tick, tick, tick_. It seemed to be mocking him, going slower than a clock normally should.

He didn’t know how long Roth actually took, but his knees had gone numb and his thighs hurt from keeping himself upright. Finally, the door opened and Roth entered, closing and locking the door behind him. Jacob focused on the floor, noting a lovely carpet under a small table, and trying not to move as Roth moved around the room.

Roth eventually knelt down on one knee, grabbing Jacob’s hands and tying his wrists together. He then stood again and came to stand behind Jacob, taking a handful of his hair and pulling it hard enough to be painful.

“‘Be discreet,’” Roth said. “I believe that’s what I said, is it not?”

He paused and Jacob remained silent until Roth yanked, hard, on his hair. “ _Isn’t_ it?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Jacob said, wincing. “Yes sir, that’s what you said.”

“Thus, you _acknowledge_ that you heard me state that. Tell me Jacob, what is the definition is _discreet_?”

Jacob licked his lips. “To be subtle, I believe. And quiet.”

“Good,” Roth said. “So, you agree, then, that I made my orders clear to understand?”

“Yes,” Jacob said.

“Then _why_ , Jacob, pray tell, did you _destroy an entire building_?” Roth snarled. He released Jacob’s hair and instead hit him hard against the back of the head, forcing Jacob to brace himself with his hands so he wouldn’t fall flat on his face.

“I’m sorry,” he replied, a little dazed.

“ _That_ is not an _answer_ , my _dear_.” Roth emphasized himself with some sort of implement—a whip, he though, or a riding crop—against Jacob’s already bruised back, causing him to gasp and squeeze his eyes shut in pain. They didn’t stop when Roth finished speaking and Jacob curled in on himself, covering his head with his arms. The blows fell harshly and rapidly and somewhere, Jacob heard himself beg Roth to stop.

Instead, Roth grabbed Jacob by his still-tied wrists and pulled him to his clumsy feet, all but throwing him on the bed and tying his still-bound wrists to the headboard.

“Stay on your _front_ ,” Roth ordered. The beating continued, worse now that the lashes had had a sort time to settle. Jacob stayed as still as he could, gritting his teeth together and thinking only, _you can take it, you can take it, you can take it_.

Yet, even with all his self-control, he couldn’t help but try to edge away from Roth’s crop. It fell on already-bruising skin until Jacob let out a howl. It was usually the signal for Roth to stop, but it was as if the older man had suddenly fallen deaf; the blows didn’t even slow.

This was a punishment. A real, true punishment. Jacob knew this, but still the beating went on. He wasn’t sure when he started crying out, and then started _crying_ , but he didn’t even notice when the lashes stopped coming. There were hands on his hips, forcing him up to his knees and he found himself begging _please no, please stop, no more, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please, Maxwell, please, **please-**_

Three fingers were shoved almost violently into his entrance and he howled as they fucked him. They were soon replaced with Roth’s cock, and he picked up a horribly fast pace, nails scraping harshly against Jacob’s sides and hips. Jacob felt as if he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. Nothing made coherent sense except the screaming urge to _get away_.

And then it was over, and Roth was gone. He said something, or perhaps that was just Jacob’s imagination, but then he was gone, and Jacob was alone. He couldn’t stop crying and his hands were still bound above his head; Roth hadn’t released him, and he had no idea when he was coming back. He tugged on the rope, but either it was too strong, or he was too weak to break it. He screwed his eyes shut and took a few hard breaths.

 _You’re an Assassin, damn it all,_ he thought. _You can do this._

Slowly, after a few more deep breaths to steady himself, he got up on his knees. His wrists were bound together, then tied to the headboard, but at least they were in front of him. Swallowing, he found the knot and started biting at it, trying to loosen it. It kept slipping, his eyes still watering, and he had to stop every so often to keep steadying himself.

 _Patience._ Wasn’t that what he had been taught all his life? _Patience, Jacob. Clear your head. Really_ think _about what you’re doing_.

The rope connecting to the bed finally came loose, and Jacob pulled away from it. His hands were still bound, but his knives were just over there, and once he reached them… Jacob moved off of the bed, his body protesting with every movement. He could feel sweat—or perhaps blood—trickling down his back, but he needed to take care of this first. He sorted through his coat until he found a throwing knife and held it in his teeth as he cut through the bonds. The blade slipped every so often and he ended up with a few shallow cuts on his hands.

The ropes fell away and Jacob rubbed at the chaffing on his wrists and trying to get the blood flowing to his hands again. He dressed with clumsy fingers, as quickly and as quietly as he could. When he had everything back on, he went to the window and slid it open, getting out. He didn’t even bother closing it behind him and he ziplined to the nearest building.

…But now what? Where was he supposed to go? It was broad daylight still; the Rooks would notice something was wrong, he couldn’t be seen by them. He couldn’t go back to the train, for _Evie_ would instantly know he was hurt and try to get it out of him. He would have to stick to the rooftops until dark. By then, he was sure he would know what to do and where to go.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, AlwaysAmused here with an edit. Firstly: DAUGHTER DOESN'T WRITE THIS FIC. Please stop bothering her. She has graciously offered to post it for me AND THAT'S IT! I wrote every word to this fic.
> 
> Again for people who've missed it: this is a VERY VIOLENT FANFICTION. I really hope this chapter lets that sink in. This is not meant to romanticize the relationship between Jacob Frye and Maxwell Roth. NONE of these things should be copied by anyone. Although BDSM exists, it should remain SAFE, SANE AND CONSENSUAL, and none of that is happening here, or anywhere in this fic. As for the LGBT+ discrimination, please keep in mind that Ruth's views are not our own. This fic takes place in the Victorian Era, where people could and WERE arrested for being LGBT. This was NOT a good time to be gay or trans, and they knew it.
> 
> If you believe the tags should be updated to warn people further of the violence in this fic, DO let me know! I know this is a violent fic and covers a lot of topics people might be uncomfortable with. Also, don't feel obligated to continue reading it if it makes you uncomfortable! It won't hurt my feelings in any shape or form, and I thank you for taking the time to read as far as you have!
> 
> The next chapter will be lighter than this, and features Ned Wynert!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DaughterOfDungeonBat again! Last chapter was pretty heavy, but this one is much, much lighter. It also includes some insight on one of the most mysterious figures in Victorian London- Mr. Ned Wynert.

 Very few people knew where Ned Wynert lived. Even fewer people knew when he would actually be home, and most knew to go directly to his office instead of bothering to figure out where he slept. Although, if he was being honest with himself, Ned slept in his office more than he’d care to admit. When he _did_ go home, it was usually late at night—unless his manager told him he had things handled and “Just go _home_ , Ned, you’re dead on your feet.”—and he usually woke early in the morning to go back to the office.

It was reasonable, Ned thought as he unlocked the door to his apartment. He put his whole life into his syndicate and business, and he didn’t trust just _anyone_ with his work. But, he still slumped his shoulders, relaxing a little as he shut and locked the door behind him. He took off his hat and coat, running his fingers through his hair. He was home earlier than usual, Isaac having told him he had no more meetings or paperwork to get done.

“Ned, before you go,” Isaac told him, “I thought you should know John’s gone missing.”

Ned frowned. “John, New York John?” Isaac nodded.

“No one knows where he’s gone off to, but I’m having people look into it. Hopefully he’ll turn up.”

Ned nodded, concerned. John had been a part of the original group Ned had joined, back before he’d run away from home. “Keep me updated,” he told Isaac. “Thanks.”

It was a rarity getting home so early. The sun was just setting and he had a lovely view from the back window. It was a nice apartment, too; Ned Wynert did nothing by halves, and he certainly had the money for whatever he so wanted. He sighed and went to the bedroom, changing out of his suit and into something more comfortable. He left the bindings on his chest on; he had no plans to go to bed so early. He did, however, loosen them just a little before pulling on a nightshirt and a dressing gown.

Satisfied, he moved to the sitting room. There was a piano there by the large windows, a lovely Persian rug underneath it to stop it from scratching the floor. He drew the curtains and turned on a few lights, going then to the bookshelf to browse. He usually bought books without giving them a second glance, but tonight he was actually awake enough to pull one out to read it. This particular book was on Russian language and grammar. Ned pushed his glasses back up his nose and hummed.

He had no idea when he had bought it, but now was as good a time as any to learn Russian. He sat and flipped it open, putting his feet up and immersing himself in the text, sounding out the letters and trying to commit them to heart. He did _love_ languages; he knew five besides English fluently, and was conversational in at _least_ a dozen more. It was, he told others, necessary for business.

“When you have a business that goes out as far as Wynert & Company does, you need to be able to connect with people of all races,” he’d said. “And I prefer not to have to rely on a translator. Miscommunications do _not_ do well for business.”

It was true, too, but it was also something to do in his spare time. He slowly flipped through the pages, to immersed that he didn’t, at first, hear the soft tapping on his window. When he did, he jerked and looked around, hand going to the small pistol he kept in his pocket. Slowly, he put the book down and got up cautiously, finger curled around the trigger.

The face of Jacob Frye smiled up at him and the stupid man waved at him. Making a noise of deep frustration, Ned stuffed the gun back into his pocket and unlocked the window, throwing it open, saying, “Christ in Heaven above, Frye, are you looking to get _shot_? What do you want?”

“Um.” Jacob winced a little as he came through the window, coming to stand in front of it. “Could I sleep on your sofa?”

Ned blinked at him. “ _Why_ …?”

“Well, I… I can’t tell you.”

“Then I think you know what my answer’s going to be.”

“Come on, Wynert, please?”

Ned sighed and rubbed his eyes. When had it gotten so dark? What _time_ was it? He asked Jacob, who hesitated.

“Just past midnight, I think.”

 _Shit_. Ned pinched the bridge of his nose. “And _why_ can’t you sleep on your train?”

Jacob looked away and then looked back. “Alright, Evie and I are having an argument and, and I _really_ don’t want to get in the way or anything.”

That seemed a little unlike him, but Ned rolled his eyes. “Of course you are. Fine, you can stay. I’ll grab you a blanket.”

Jacob mumbled out a thank you and Ned paused for a split-second, wondering if he should ask if Jacob was alright. He then shrugged and went off to find a blanket. It wasn’t difficult, and he soon returned to find Jacob standing in almost the same exact spot. Strange, since Ned would have expected him to snoop around the room, or at least sprawl across the sofa to make himself at home.

“Frye, how are you doing?” Ned asked, and Jacob glanced up at him, frowning a little.

“What do you mean?” He asked. Ned put the blanket down and came closer, pushing his glasses up his nose again. Now that he got a closer look, Jacob didn’t look well at all; his face was drawn and tired, and he had dark circles under his eyes. He was holding himself at an odd position as well; normally, Jacob’s body-language was open, he was all smiles, and always reading to give someone a pat on the back.

But now, he was closed off. His face revealed nothing and he was distancing himself. Even as Ned came closer, it was clear his presence wasn’t very welcome. Ned waved a hand. “I mean- _That_ , Frye. You’re acting strange.”

“It’s nothing,” Jacob said. He backed away a step and Ned stopped, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow.

“Are you hurt?”

“I’m _fine_ , Wynert.”

“That’s not a no. Do you need medical attention?”

“…No.” It came reluctantly and Ned narrowed his eyes.

“Medical _supplies_ , then?” He offered. “I’ve got a hospital’s worth of supplies.”

Jacob didn’t reply for a moment instead looking around. If Ned didn’t know better, he would have said he looked nervous. “Yes,” Jacob said at last. “I’ll take some supplies.”

“See? Now we’re getting somewhere.” Ned moved off to his bathroom. “All you had to do was ask, Frye.”

Jacob didn’t reply, neither with a witty reply or some sort of mock flirtation. He simply remained silent, and was still standing when Ned returned with what was essentially a trunk-full of medical supplies. _That_ got a reaction, and Jacob lifted his eyebrows.

“Why the bloody hell do you have all that?” He asked as Ned lowered the case to the floor and opened it.

“I don’t like doctors.” Ned sorted through it. “What do you need? I’ve got bandages, ointments for bruises and cuts, creams for other bruises and cuts. You’re not bleeding profusely, are you?”

“Not that I’m aware of.”

“Well, if you suddenly become aware, I’ll ask that you move into the lavatory. Blood’s a pain to get out of carpet, you understand.”

Jacob simply nodded. “Thank you, Wynert. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Frye.” Ned retreated to his bedroom and moved the covers aside, turning on the lamp at his bedside. He had just become comfortable when he realized he’d left his book in the sitting room. He hesitated; he could leave the book until morning and sleep, or he could retrieve it and find a better place to leave off.

With a sigh, he decided on the latter. Pulling the covers aside, he grabbed his dressing gown again and pulled it on, walking back to the sitting room. “Sorry, Frye, I left my-”

Jacob’s head snapped up as Ned stopped dead in the doorway, his eyes meeting Jacob’s wide ones. They both stared at one another in horrified silence until Ned’s eyes traveled down Jacob’s naked torso; specifically, at the bruises that littered his body. Jacob swallowed, his breathing shallow and irregular. “Um…”

“ _Jee-zus_ , Frye,” Ned breathed. He moved into the room slowly, as one might approach a frightened cat. “What the hell happened?”

“I- It’s not-” Jacob tumbled and tripped over his words, unable to string together a coherent sentence other than, “I’m _sorry_.”

Ned knelt next to his medical trunk and sorted through it, scooping out a jar of ointment. “Turn around, Frye. This’ll sting, but it’ll feel better than an infection.”

To his surprise, Jacob complied without a fight, falling completely silent, worrying his hands. Ned winced and hissed through his teeth when he saw the expanse of Jacob’s back. It was a web of blue and black and purple and red, the colors seeming to fight for dominance. Ned dipped his fingers into the ointment and let them glide over Jacob’s back. He could feel a faint tremor running through him.

Dread set into Ned’s stomach as he worked; every time he pressed a little too hard, Jacob flinched. Every time he focused on one place for too long, Jacob shuddered. By the time Ned was done, Jacob’s tremors had turned into full-blown shaking, his fingers digging into his knees. Ned got to his feet. Bandages would be a little too difficult for these sorts of injuries.

Ned needed to think. Tension was filling up the room and he swallowed. “Do you like coffee?” He said, filling the silence. “I need coffee. I’m going to make coffee, I’ll be back.”

He all but fled from the room, not waiting for a reply, wrapping his dressing gown tighter around himself. He reached the kitchen and let the familiar motions take over while his mind raced. Fill the kettle and put it on to boil. What exactly had happened to Jacob? Measure out the coffee beans. And _who_ exactly had done that? Put them in the grinder and grind them. More importantly, _how_ had it happened? Jacob was an Assassin, and highly skilled at that; it wasn’t like he could fight people off. Measure out the grinds and put them in the pot.

Ned sat on a stool, waiting for the kettle, fidgeting with the tie to his dressing gown. This couldn’t have been a fight-club. They got violent, but never quite like that. No, the marks were too violent, too centralized. _He was beaten,_ Ned thought. Something in his stomach shifted and he swallowed, feeling like he was going to be sick. Had Jacob been captured? Ned dismissed the idea; if he’d been captured, why not go back to the train?

…Unless Evie or Henry were involved? _It_ had _to have come from someone he knows,_ he thought. He dismissed the idea of Evie. Although the two of them bickered often, she would never resort to _this_ , would she?

Coffee suddenly seemed like a bad idea. He needed something to settle his stomach. What did you take for nausea? Peppermint? He looked around, putting the coffee away and instead measuring out some peppermint. He put together a tea tray, adding in a plate of cookies as an afterthought—he adamantly _refused_ to call them _biscuits_ —and waited for the water to boil.

No, he couldn’t have been Henry either, he thought as he sat back down, tapping a foot. He hadn’t a violent bone in his body, the man couldn’t even kill a _fly_ , he was sure. But then _who_ had done this? And _why_ had Jacob allowed it?

The whistling of the kettle brought Ned out of his thoughts and he scrambled to get it off the heat, quickly pouring it over the leaves. As he watched the leaves infuse, he remembered vaguely that Jacob was seeing someone.

…Someone he refused to talk about.

Ned blinked, frowned, and slapped himself on the forehead. _Dammit, Ned, you’re a_ fucking _idiot! He’s queer!_

Of course, it made _perfect sense_! Why else wouldn’t he want anyone to know who he was seeing, unless it was a man? Ned ran his fingers through his hair—forgetting there was ointment on them—and frowned. He was no stranger to the, hmm, _alternate_ practices of sex, even if he had never taken part himself. But this? _This_ didn’t look like fun, and Ned was aware that it was _supposed_ to be fun.

Jacob looked scared.

The realization felt like a punch to the gut, but the more he thought about it, the more it fit. Ned had _never_ seen Jacob this quiet before, had never seen him sit still this long before. It was unnerving.

He pulled the leaves out of the pot, covered it, and carried the tray back to the sitting room where Jacob was sitting exactly where he’d left him. Ned put the tray down noisily and Jacob stiffened a little before looking away, reaching up to wipe at his face. Ned only looked at the tray, pouring two cups, and gave him the privacy he needed to compose himself.

“I changed my mind about the coffee,” he said when Jacob said nothing. “Peppermint okay?”

Jacob nodded and took the cup, cradling it in his hands and looking down at it, mumbling a, “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” Ned sat down on the settee, blowing at his cup before taking a sip. “So. You going to tell me what the _heck_ happened to you?”

“S’nothing.” Jacob didn’t meet his eyes.

“You know, you and I have two _very_ different ideas about what ‘nothing’ means, my friend,” Ned said, sitting up. “But seriously. Who did this?”

“No one.”

“Oh, okay, so you beat _yourself_ up? Brilliant, amazing, what a feat of strength.”

Jacob said nothing to that and Ned frowned. “Frye?” No reply. “ _Jacob_.”

When there was still no reply, Ned put his cup aside and stood, walking over and placing a hand lightly on Jacob’s shoulder. Jacob jumped and looked up at him, eyes wide again, freezing in place. Before Ned could remove is hand, however, Jacob leaned unconsciously into the touch. “Hey,” Ned said. “You’re going to be okay. You need some sleep.” He paused. “Are you going to be alright on the sofa?”

Jacob nodded. Ned wasn’t sure if he believed him and grabbed the blanket he’d brought before, placing it next to Jacob. “Alright,” he said. “Try to lay on your stomach or side. I’m going to bed.”

“…I know.”

“Goodnight, Frye.”

 “G’night.”

Ned remembered his book this time, and brought it and his cup back to his bedroom, leaving the door open after a moment of thought. He laid the book down and finished his tea, peeled off his dressing gown and got into bed, turning the light off.

He barely slept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has been supportive of this fic! It really makes it easier to deal with all the shit that's been going on over on my tumblr.
> 
> The next chapter will actually be a reverse birthday gift- I'm turning twenty, so y'all get a chapter!
> 
> Edit from AA: Just echoing the thanks for various reader support! I know I said this on the last chapter, but it's worth echoing, please keep in mind that Daughter doesn't write this fic, so please don't harass her for the content. In other news, you'll notice this work is now part of a series! Daughter came up with the name, it's from the Roth Murder Ballad called _Jokes, Jokes, Jokes_ , and you can find it on youtube or on the Syndicate soundtrack!
> 
> Thanks to everyone who left kudos!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know if this really needs a warning, but in this chapter, Ned is going to interrogate Jacob about his injuries, and Jacob says something he's going to regret.

Jacob meant to wake up and leave before Wynert woke up. He meant to make coffee as a thank you and leave, however as fate would have it, he woke up to the sounds of Ned moving around the flat. Jacob blinked groggily as Ned walked in, tying his tie.

“Morning, Frye,” he said, finishing and sticking his hands in his pockets. “You look a little less like shit. Want to join me for breakfast? I usually stop at a place before heading to work, they have a _great_ espresso. My treat, what do you say?”

Jacob meant to say “no.” He should really be leaving and going back to the train, check in with the Rooks, go back to Roth. “Thank you,” he said, sitting up and forcing a smile on his face. “That sounds great.”

He was painfully aware of the fact that he wasn’t wearing a shirt and about what had happened the night before. If he was lucky, Wynert wouldn’t question it. That was, after all, why he had come there to start with; he _trusted_ Ned Wynert. If he’d gone back to the train, Evie would have instantly seen that something was wrong, and Henry would have tried to get it out of him. No, Wynert was the one, if anyone, who would respect his privacy.

Wynert smiled and said, “Wonderful. I’ll give you a few minutes to pull yourself together then.”

He left again and Jacob watched him go before pulling his shirt back on. There were slight traces of blood on the back, but he ignored it and the ache in his back, and shrugged on his coat. He was fine. Dammit all, he’d been stabbed, shot, beaten, and injured worse than this before in general. A little bruising wouldn’t kill him.

Jacob followed Ned out of the flat. “It’s a nice day,” Wynert remarked. “Care to walk?”

As anything would be better than sitting down in a carriage, Jacob was quick to agree. He smiled and waved to some Rooks as they made their way to Wynert’s office by the Thames. The café they stopped at on the way wasn’t one Jacob had ever seen before. It was in a sort of hidden spot, away from the street. The sign _La Particularité_ hung over the door and Jacob paused a moment to scan out the area before following Wynert inside.

* * *

Ned smiled and waved to the various other regulars as he made his way to a table in the corner. _His_ table, really. The servers and other people all waved or smiled back and Ned could soon feel Jacob’s presence behind him.

“Come here often?” He asked as they sat. Ned nodded and settled down.

“Almost every morning since it opened. _La Particularité_ has a lovely selection of coffee, tea, and various breakfast and luncheon options.” He glanced at the specials for the day, but shrugged it off. He knew what he wanted already. “The people who own it are very sweet.”

Speak of the devil, the owners’ daughter came over, smiling at him and Jacob. “Your usual, Mr. Wynert?” She asked, pushing back her hair.

“ _Oui, merci mademoiselle_. And you, Mr. Frye?” He looked to where Jacob had been staring, as if hypnotized, at the napkin holder. “Frye.”

“Uh?” Jacob started out of his trance and blinked. “Oh. Whatever he’s having. Thank you.”

“Ah, _prends ton temps_ , Louise,” Ned added. Hopefully if she took her time, he could get a little more out of Jacob.

“ _Oui! Merci beaucoup, Messieurs_.” She flounced off and Ned turned back to Jacob. He had settled back into his chair and was looking firmly at his hands, seemingly lost in thought again.

“Isn’t she just a darling? She’s engaged to one of my people, I helped introduce them. Her parents don’t speak much English.” He said, and Jacob looked up at him. “Thankfully, I speak fluent French.”

Jacob raised his eyebrows. “Do you now? You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you, Wynert.”

Wynert snorted and leaned back in his seat with a shrug. “Comes with the trade. It’s the language of business, after all.”

“Thought it was the language of love.” Jacob fluttered his eyelashes at Ned, who grinned. _There_ was the Jacob he knew and didn’t completely hate.

“That too. But _I_ use it for business. And this,” he added, waving a hand around. Jacob hummed and glanced at the door. Ned noticed how he had positioned himself, not quite sitting at the table, but turning his chair so he could lean his arm against it. So he could see the door.

He brushed it off as an Assassin thing for now. But he started in now on his master plan. “So,” he said as casually as he could, like he was asking about the weather, or something else as insignificant. “What happened last night?”

“I don’t really care to tell,” Jacob replied. “Thank you for letting me stay, though.”

“You’re welcome,” Ned said. “And you can repay me by telling me who’s after you.”

Jacob looked at him and frowned. “No one, as far as I’m aware. Well,” he laughed. “Templars, but they’re _always_ after us. Starrick too.”

“Hm.” Ned wasn’t quite convinced. He let it get quiet for a moment before saying, “How’s your partner?”

“Wha?” Jacob frowned and looked at him. “Um, who?”

“Your _lover_ , Frye. You’ve been mysteriously happy for the past month, and I presume you have a lover you haven’t told anyone about. So, how is he?”

Jacob looked startled and had paled. “Is it _that_ obvious?”

“Not to someone who doesn’t know how to read the signs,” Ned said. “But reading people is a… _specialty_ of mine. Who is it, by the way? Anyone I know?”

“No.” Jacob looked away. It was clear he was trying to look passive.

“Huh.” Ned could find out who it was; it would be easy to get one of his people to trace Jacob’s patterns. It was a matter of respect and privacy, and Ned _did_ respect Jacob. Instead, he asked, “Jacob, why didn’t you _really_ want to go back to the train last night? Is it because of Evie?”

Jacob shrugged. “It’s _nothing_ , Wynert. Drop it.”

“Or is it because of Green?”

Jacob looked at him then. “Don’t be daft. Greenie wouldn’t step on a spider even if it bit him.”

Ned huffed. “Then how the heck did you get hurt?”

“Fight club.”

“Bullshit.”

“Fell off a building?”

“You asking or telling?”

Jacob was looking more and more ticked off as Ned continued until he finally snapped, “I don’t have to explain myself to someone like _you_. Now please, Wynert. _Drop it_.”

Ned was taken aback. He’d had his fair share of insults, ranging anywhere from the casual being called “Miss” to more colorful insults about how he presented himself. He liked to think he’d grown a thick skin, but he stared at Jacob for a moment and was almost angry with the spark of betrayal that _must_ have flickered across his face. Jacob looked guilty and looked away.

So it _was_ meant like that. That’s how this was going to be. He straightened and leaned back in his chair, placing his hands in his lap, and peered at Jacob down his nose, all business.

“‘Someone like me’?” He asked. “And pray tell, Mr. Frye. Whatever do you mean by that?”

It was always somewhat amusing, Ned thought, watching people try to come back from insulting him. There was always a level of discomfort and awkward that Ned took a cruel enjoyment from. Yes, he thought. Let him _suffer_.

“I- Nothing. I’m sorry.”

“No, no, _do_ explain, Mr. Frye,” he said, shifting in his chair, just enough to get comfortable. “I’m truly at a loss, and _very_ curious.”

To his disappointment, Jacob was momentarily saved as Louise brought their coffee and croissants. She smiled as she set it down and Ned smiled back at her and thanked her to be polite, then refocused his attention on Jacob.

“You were saying?” He said, picking up the pastry and tearing off a part, dipping it into his coffee, then eating it, chewing slowly. Jacob didn’t touch his coffee and didn’t look at Ned.

“Nothing,” Jacob muttered. Ned swallowed his bite and narrowed his eyes.

“I _insist_ ,” he said. “I like knowing what the people I hire think of me, Mr. Frye. It helps me decide whether or not they’re _worth my time and trust_.”

“You trust people?” Jacob said. Ned sipped at his coffee.

“Not often. But when I do, I don’t like it to be broken.” Ned wasn’t very hungry anymore, but he kept eating and sipping at his coffee, waiting for Jacob to fill the silence. Sure enough, he did when Ned was halfway done with his croissant.

“It’s just… You’re a little… _unusual_ , Wynert.”

“This hasn’t ever been a problem before,” Ned replied in a clipped tone. “Mr. Frye, I own and run a _very_ successful business. My _strangeness_ is neither here nor there. I am just a much a man as you.”

And _there it was_. Exactly what Ned was looking for. If people were smart and worth his time, they would look questioning, but then nod and agree. But _that_ , that ever so slight—and sometimes not so slight—scoff was all Ned needed to know about Jacob’s standing. His heart and stomach sank. He finished his coffee in sort order and picked up the rest of his croissant.

“From now on, Mr. Frye,” he said, standing, “I will be doing business with your sister. I no longer require your services.”

Jacob _did_ look up then. “I- Come on now, is this really necessary, Wynert?”

“It is.” He dug through his purse and placed money on the table for Louise to collect. “I don’t offer my help to people who disrespect me.”

He made to leave, calling, “ _Merci, au revoir_.”

Jacob, to his annoyance, ran after him.

“Look here, Wynert- I didn’t _mean_ -” He grabbed Ned’s arm and Ned wrenched it out of his grip and whipped around.

“Don’t. Fucking. Touch. Me,” he snarled, pointing at Jacob, who immediately backed up. “I don’t _care_ that you ‘didn’t mean it,’ Frye. You still _said_ it.”

“I’m _sorry_ ,” Jacob said, holding up his hands. “I just- I know someone who doesn’t have the, the highest respect for you and it just- it must be _rubbing off_ on me or something.”

“That’s not my problem.” Ned straightened himself. “But for sake of curiosity, who is it?”

Jacob paused. “I can’t tell you.”

“Oh? You ‘can’t tell me’? Why the hell not? I think I deserve to know who talks shit about me, especially if it’s ‘rubbing off’ on someone I let sleep in my house.” Anger coursed through Ned. “And hell, if you’re really so sorry, why not stick up for me instead of just agreeing? I’m guessing that what you did, since this ‘rubbed off’ on you so much.”

Jacob said nothing, which to Ned was as good as a confirmation. “That’s what I thought,” he muttered, mostly to himself. To Jacob he said, “And another thing; if you’re keeping secrets about me, why shouldn’t I tell Miss Frye about what happened last night?”

Jacob’s eyes snapped to his face and he looked pale. “You wouldn’t.”

Ned shrugged. He wasn’t a snitch, but Jacob didn’t know that. “You haven’t given me much incentive not to.”

“You can’t.”

“Says who?”

Jacob didn’t reply and Ned grinned a tight-lipped, mirthless grin. “Either you can tell me who you’re hanging out with, or I can tell Miss Frye that you were injured and came to me last night. Your pick.”

Jacob seemed to struggle with himself, looking around and looking nervous.

“Was it a Rook?” Ned asked, crossing his arms.

“No.” Jacob spoke quickly. “Definitely not.”

“A Templar, then?”

“Not… Not quite.”

“Hmm.” Ned thought about it. Not a Rook and not a Templar—not _quite_ a Templar, what did that mean? “A Blighter?”

“…I suppose so.”

“You ‘suppose,’ or you know?”

“I… Yes, he’s a Blighter.”

Ned tapped his foot. “So, not quite a Templar, but a Blighter.” He thought about it and a very specific person came to mind. But no, Jacob wouldn’t know him… Would he? If it was his lover, it might be why he didn’t want people to know what he was doing. Fucking a man was one thing, fucking a man who was a _Blighter_ was another.

It _would_ also explain the marks on Jacob’s back.

“Let’s talk about this lover of yours,” Ned said. Jacob tensed. “Not someone you want to talk about, so I’m guessing it’s no one your sister, Green, or I know. You also presumably spend quite some time with this… _individual_. You then show up at my apartment with your back _beaten to hell_ , and so I’ve now only got three questions; who is it, did they beat you, and does this tie into what you said about _me_?”

Jacob stood speechless for a moment and looked almost _scared_. “How- How did you-”

“Like I said. Reading people is a specialty of mine.” Ned watched as Jacob seemed to fold in upon himself. He had never seen him look so _small_ before.

“You can’t tell Evie,” he said, sounding panicked. “I- You _can’t_.”

“I make no promises until you answer the questions.”

Jacob licked his lips and looked rather like a cornered animal. He glanced around and Ned could _see_ him looking for a way out of this. “ _Jacob_ ,” he said and marveled when the Assassin _flinched_.

“Yes,” he blurted out. “Yes, he did, and yes, it does, but I- I _can’t tell you_ who it is, I just _can’t_.”

Ned hadn’t been taking enjoyment from this for a while now. Something cold and hard had settled into his gut somewhere. “Why not?” He asked.

“It’s- He’s _private_ , and, and he’ll be in trouble if I tell,” he said.

“He will, or _you_ will?” Ned asked. Jacob swallowed and refused to meet his eyes. Ned frowned and took a step forward. “Frye,” he said seriously, “do you need help?”

“What? No!” Jacob’s eyes found his again. “No, I’m fine.”

“Bullshit.”

“I _am_.”

“You were tied up and _beaten_ , I _really_ don’t see how that constitutes as ‘fine.’”

“It’s- It’s not _like_ that.” Jacob ran his fingers through his hair. “I- I _deserved_ it.”

Ned’s mind went absolutely blank. Of all the things he expected Jacob to say, it was not _that_. “You what?”

“I deserved it!” Jacob snapped. “I fucked up, and then I paid for it. End of story.”

“No, _not_ end of story,” Ned snapped right back. “Not when you pull me into your _mess_. Who the heck is _doing_ this to you?”

“I can’t tell you!” Jacob then stepped away from the building they were standing next to. By the time Ned realized what he was going to do, Jacob had already set his zipline, and soon was on the roof and away. Ned watched the place where Jacob had disappeared to for a moment before stuffing his hands into his pockets and continuing on his way to work.

“Dammit Frye,” he muttered and kicked a bucket on his way out, regretting it a moment later when pain exploded in his foot. No one mentioned it when he limped into the office, but Isaac _did_ raise an eyebrow.

“Shut up,” he snapped. He slammed the door to his office and got to work, trying to push thoughts of _stupid_ Jacob Frye and his _stupid_ problems out of his mind.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No real warnings for this chapter. It's pretty light, but please remember that everything Roth does concerning Jacob is a calculated move. This is not romantic, it's to get Jacob to lower his guard and further infatuate him.

Jacob didn’t know what to do. He still couldn’t go back to the train, he couldn’t now go to Wynert’s flat, and he didn’t have the nerve to face his Rooks. He wandered over the rooftops, wondering I that made him a coward. _Probably,_ he thought gloomily and kicked a loose time off of a roof. He heard someone shout from below, and while he usually would have found some amusement at that, he only winced and leaped to another rooftop.

He didn’t even really notice where his feet were taking him until he looked up and saw the Alhambra, just across the street. Music came from it and he hesitated, thinking briefly about what Wynert had said to him. Then, shaking his head, he stepped to the door and knocked. He wasn’t altogether surprised when Lewis answered, but Lewis raised his eyebrows when he saw who it was. “Back again, Mr. Frye?”

Jacob shrugged a shoulder. “Is Roth in?” He asked.

“Mr. Roth is currently backstage, dealing with a performance crisis,” Lewis said. “However, I will inform him of your arrival. Please, wait for him in his office. I believe you know the way?”

Jacob frowned a little, but nodded, brushing past him and heading upstairs. He had only ever been in Roth’s office a handful of times, but for some reason, it struck him as being unusually quiet for a space belonging to Roth. It was cluttered in a way that the bedroom was not; the bedroom was meticulous and wide, but gave the sense of being rather nice.

The office was the exact opposite. Books and papers cluttered every surface, and there were even several things—posters, notes, pictures—tacked to the wall.  It reminded Jacob somewhat of the train car he and Evie shared.

The curtains were tied back, but the window was shut, and Jacob could see dust floating in the sunlight. There were a few rather odd objects as well—a bucket with an old shoe in it, a broken umbrella, a stuffed moose head, and several other things—but when he looked closer, he concluded that they were props. There was also a settee, also covered with various books and papers.

Jacob was still looking around when the door suddenly burst open. He whipped around, reaching for his pistol before realizing Roth had arrived with all his usual bravado.

“ _There_ you are, darling!” Roth kicked the door closed behind him with a foot and approached Jacob, smiling. “I was quite concerned when I returned to find you had run off, but I see you’re safe and sound, hmm? How are you, my dear; have you put something on your back, or do you need me to take care of you? I feel simply _terrible_ for not being able to.”

Jacob opened his mouth to reply, but Roth pressed on, “I’ve gone an ointment in here somewhere…” He started looking around the room and Jacob swallowed.

“Er, I’ve had someone take a quick look,” he said. “But I wouldn’t mind.”

“Ah, quick looks rarely do any lasting good,” Roth said, waving a hand away. “And besides, I’m sure you haven’t shown anyone your- A _ha_! Here it is.” He pulled a jar from under his desk and beckoned Jacob before unscrewing the top. “Come darling, undress and allow me.”

Jacob hastened to do as told, laying his clothes on a stool. “Wouldn’t this be better to do in the bedroom?” He asked.

“Oh, no one will come in unless I call them,” Roth said, moving things off the settee. “Lay down here, darling.”

It was still a little painful to move, Jacob thought as he laid down, flinching when Roth touched him. “Goodness, these turned all sorts of colors,” he said, gently spreading ointment over his back. Jacob didn’t reply, but focused on keeping himself still as Roth moved further down.

That was, he thought, the unfortunate thing about having Wynert help him; he couldn’t reach the bruises lower than the waistband of his trousers, where the worst of the punishment was. But Roth massaged the ointment in, careful not to hurt, and pausing when he did before gently stroking and carrying on, down to the thighs and calves before coming back up to sit by Jacob’s head.

“Does that feel better?” Roth asked. Surprisingly enough, Jacob _did_ feel better. He nodded and Roth stroked his hair. “I’m glad.”

Jacob hummed and pressed himself into the fabric of Roth’s trousers, making the older man huff out a soft laugh. “Affectionate now, are we? Move down then and give me some more room to sit.” Jacob sat up and Roth sat before pulling him to his chest, a hand cupping the back of his head. He was practically in Roth’s lap, and Roth pressed a kiss to his forehead.

“You’re rather like an affectionate dog, darling,” he said, sounding amused. Jacob hummed and sighed a little, trying to get as close as he could and closing his eyes. He was tired, and he was relaxed for the first time since Roth had punished him. Had that really only been the previous day? He thought once again about what Wynert had told him about Roth. But here, now, with a gentle hand in his hair and soft words being spoken in his ear, he was totally, utterly convinced of how _wrong_ Wynert had to be.

What Roth had said finally registered, however, and he frowned. “I’m not a dog.”

“You’re _like_ a dog,” Roth insisted. “You’ve affectionate, sweet, rather adorable, and unfailingly loyal. All noble qualities.”

“I think a few people would disagree on those first few things,” Jacob said.

“Well, then they’re fools,” Roth said. Silence fell for a while after that until he said, “Darling, who did you go to after you left?”

“Hmm?”

“You said someone took a look,” he said. Jacob blinked.

“Oh. Just a friend of mine,” Jacob replied. “My sister would have noticed something was up. She would have asked questions.”

“Then I assume no one knows about me?”

Jacob nodded. “Not a soul. Well, Lewis does I suppose, but he hardly counts.”

Roth roared with laughter and cupped Jacob’s cheeks in his hands and pressed a kiss to his lips, still smiling. “Goodness darling, it almost sounds like you’re jealous. You have nothing to fear, I assure you. Now, I don’t know about you, but I’m starved. Shall we take luncheon in the bedroom?”

Realizing he hadn’t actually eaten whatever he had gotten at the café with Wynert, Jacob nodded. Something in him had loosened up and he got up and dressed before following Roth to the bedroom. Roth told him about the performance he was writing—“ _Corvus the Trickster_ , but I don’t know if I’ll ever perform it. I mostly just have the name at the moment.”—and Jacob listened and ate. They were lounging after while Roth smoked, and Jacob told him about his and Evie’s grandmother’s home in Wales.

“She lived out in the middle of nowhere on a farm, so the only neighbors were about a mile in each direction. Evie and I had a lot of freedom in that way to do whatever we wanted. Well, once chores and the like were done.”

“Was she strict, your grandmother?” Roth asked, tilting his head. Jacob shrugged.

“I mean, _yeah_ , but I don’t have very many memories of her anymore. Our father came and took us to the compound when we were six.”

“Oh, ‘the compound,’ that sounds very menacing. What was that like?”

Jacob thought. “I dunno, really. It became home pretty quickly, so we don’t really have any concept of anything else, except Gran’s farm.”

“Hm.” Roth took a lungful of smoke before exhaling and saying, “What was she like?”

“Who, Gran? Well, she was strict and a sort of no-nonsense kind of person. But she was never cruel, and she did her best with us. She was a good cook; she tried teaching Evie, but Evie wasn’t going to have any of that, so when I decided I wanted to learn, she taught me instead.” Jacob huffed out a laugh then. “I think her reasoning was that one of us was going to have to keep the other alive.”

Roth raised his eyebrows. “You can cook?”

“Yeah, a bit,” Jacob said modestly. “I mean, it’s not terribly hard to follow a recipe. I only know a few by heart, things like general breakfast foods, pie, bread-”

Roth laughed. “‘Only a few,’ he says. Come now, Jacob, I’m willing to bet not everyone knows how to make a pie off the top of their heads. Once again, you underestimate yourself!”

Jacob smiled and squirmed pleasantly on the inside at the praise. Before he could thank him for the compliment, however, Roth held up a hand, cocking his head. “Hear that?” He said.

Jacob listened and could make out music coming from the stage. “Very nice,” he said, and Roth smiled.

“Darling, can you dance?” He asked. Jacob snorted.

“Not well, certainly. I can’t really say it was a part of my training. Or, at least, not one I paid any bit of attention to.”

Roth tutted. “A damn shame, my dear. Come, come, I’ll just have to show you!” He put out his cigarette and jumped up, moving furniture to clear a space. Jacob helped and before he knew it, Roth was standing before him, in a bow, holding a hand out. “Might I have this dance?”

Jacob grinned. “You’re such a dandy,” he said, but accepted the hand. Roth just laughed and straightened, putting his arm around Jacob’s waist.

“Alright now, put your left hand on my shoulder like- No, a little lower down, darling. Lower… Yes, there we are. Good! Now, give me your other hand. Looser grip, darling, this is a dance.” Roth laughed and pressed a quick kiss to Jacob’s cheek. “Don’t look so _grim_ , this is supposed to be at least a little fun. I think I’ll lead and teach you…” He listened to the music for a moment before nodding. “Yes, a waltz. Very fun, in my opinion.”

They started with simple steps, Roth teaching him the ropes, and Jacob somehow avoided stepping on Roth’s feet. Roth twirled him once or twice and laughed. “Are you sure you never paid attention, darling? Look at you, a true natural!”

Jacob smiled and they soon moved into a rhythm. He wasn’t altogether surprised; he was a fast learner when he was motivated, but the last bit had always given his father trouble. Jacob had to _want_ to learn in order to do so. Jacob was pulled abruptly out of his thoughts when Roth tipped him back, and he laughed at the sly look on the other man’s face before Roth kissed him and brought him back up.

“I don’t think I’m the only affectionate one today, Maxwell,” he said and Roth huffed, but looked amused.

“What can I say, darling? You are _irresistible_. But don’t get cocky,” he warned, but he was smiling enough that Jacob leaned in and took a chance.

“But I thought you _liked_ it when I got cocky,” he said. Roth laughed and pushed him a little.

“How right you are,” he said. “But I’d much rather put that mouth of yours to work, hm?”

It was an invitation, Jacob thought, and one he hesitated on. He could say no, could take this in a different direction, and he was sure Roth wouldn’t be disappointed; the man liked witty banter almost as much as he liked sex.

But then, Jacob had put him through enough trouble over the past day, hadn’t he? So instead, Jacob bowed, smiling, and said, “My pleasure.” He fell to his knees, undoing Roth’s trousers.

“No, darling, I suspect the pleasure will be _mine_ ,” Roth replied, lightly stroking the shell of Jacob’s ear. Jacob snorted.

“We’re so vulgar,” he noted humorously, and Roth laughed while combing his fingers through Jacob’s hair.

“And yet, my darling, I can’t find it in me to be terribly sorry, can you?”

“Not at all,” Jacob said. He mouthed at Roth’s cock, already half-hard. Roth sighed and tightening his grip on his hair as Jacob continued.

“You’ve gotten quite— _Jesus_ —skilled,” he remarked. It was enjoyable, Jacob thought, to know he was able to make Roth like this, to be the only one permitted to see him in this state. As he continued, Roth began to pant, his fingers tugging at his hair, one hand moving to grasp his shoulder. With one hand, Jacob started stroking himself, and Roth thrust into his mouth.

He wasn’t quite as good as Roth at holding back his gag reflex, however Roth himself had stated once, “It’s only because I’ve had quite some time to get better, darling. You’ll get there, I’m sure.”

But Jacob _was_ a quick learner, and he had a wonderful teacher. Roth’s nails dug painfully into his shoulder and warned, “ _Jacob_ -”

Jacob smiled, pressing his tongue to the head of Roth’s cock, and kept pace, swallowing him when he came. Roth was surprised to say the least, but gave a breathy laugh.

“You certainly are full of surprises, my dear,” he said, releasing his grip and tied back up his trousers. “You’re very good, aren’t you?”

Jacob smiled in reply and let Roth help him to his feet. Roth sighed and looked at the time. “I’m afraid I must go back to work, darling,” he said. “But, come back tonight, and perhaps we’ll take care of this?” He palmed at Jacob’s trousers, pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, and started humming some sort of tune as he left, leaving Jacob to look after him, a little dumbstruck. Jacob shook his head in a sort of fond exasperation, found his coat, and went out to check on his Rooks and return later.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter includes one of my favorite characters of ours; Isaac! He's shown up before, I just like him!

Evie liked working for Ned Wynert. Perhaps the jobs were a little difficult at times, but she could appreciate a man who took care of his workers. She knew he would deny it if confronted, but she had heard from Clara O’Dea that he slipped money to her little thieves’ guild every so often. He was grouchy at the worst of times, and snarky at the best, but it was nice to know his heart was—if not a little morally ambiguous—in the right place.

Thus, she respected him. He was a trusted ally, and a powerful one at that; his informants assured that he knew everything that went on in London, and while Henry Green’s informants were good, he simply didn’t have as many eyes looking out like Mr. Wynert did.

In return for his loyalty and information, she and Jacob provided their services to his company. That they got paid was simply an added bonus, and not one Evie took for granted. It also helped that this was the one thing Jacob seemed to take seriously nowadays; he loved robbing the trains and boats and every cart he got to hijack meant he let off a little more steam. It was also interesting to note that Ned Wynert put up with him. And more than that, he seemed to genuinely _like_ Jacob.

Which was why she became terribly surprised when Ned told her coldly that he would continue working with the Assassins only through her and Henry. She had stood in front of Ned’s desk after this declaration and frowned a moment. “May… May I ask why that is, Mr. Wynert?”

Mr. Wynert smiled curtly and look at her over his spectacles. “I don’t work with people who disrespect me, Miss Frye. I’m sure you understand.”

Hot anger seared through her and she tightened her jaw a little. What on _earth_ had Jacob done now? “If I might ask, what has my brother done?”

“I believe I asked him a question—and I’ll admit, it _was_ a rather personal question—and he replied that he didn’t have to explain himself to ‘someone like’ me.” There was absolute certainty in his voice and Evie swallowed the urge to go find her brother _immediately_ and throw him into the Thames.

“Then on the behalf of my brother, I’d like to apologize,” she said, forcing herself to seem calm.

“I appreciate the sentiment, Miss Frye. But I’ve decided I no longer require his services.”

Evie continued to stand, her mind racing on what to say. Fortunately, Mr. Wynert took the responsibility upon himself to break the silence, and he said, “These are the jobs I need done today. If you could send some Rooks to this destination to pick up some supplies, I’d be ever so grateful.”

“Of course, Mr. Wynert. Er…” She hesitated a moment before continuing, “I want you to know that not _all_ of us share that opinion of you. You are a valued ally to us, and I have nothing but the highest respect.”

Mr. Wynert’s eyebrows raised to his hairline before he nodded once. “Thank you, Miss Frye. I’ll see you tonight to pay you?”

She smiled and nodded and she thought he smiled back for a moment before he went back to his work; a dismissing gesture. She took her cue and left the office, immediately setting out to find her _thrice-damned stupid_ little brother.

The problem now was finding him. She was a good Assassin, she knew that, but so was Jacob. He was almost as good as her, and unfortunately that means if he didn’t want to be found, it would be near impossible to find him.

 _Nearly_. It had become a sort of game in Crawley; if anyone needed to know where one of them was, you would ask the other. Even if Evie didn’t know where her brother currently was, she knew she would be able to find him in very little time.  Today, however, seemed to be different. She spoke to the Rooks she passed and asked them if they knew where Jacob was.

Martha frowned when Evie had asked, just after completing a job and helping unload a cart. “Can’t rightly say when the last time I saw Mr. Frye was. You might try the Strand; he’s taken to walking ‘round there, Miss.”

That was odd, Evie thought as she walked off, heading to the next job. Why would Jacob be in the Strand? It wasn’t a part of London they had yet; the Blighters and Templars were better trained than them. They had agreed to wait on taking that part of London.

 _Unless he’s just showing off again,_ she thought to herself. Yes, _that_ was a likely possibility, she thought as she moved from job to job, taking out a few Templars along the way. The took a sweep around the Strand, sticking to the rooftops and flicking on her Vision, but couldn’t find Jacob anywhere. With a sigh, she finished the jobs and returned to Mr. Wynert’s office. He lifted his eyes to her and gave her a polite smile.

“Ah, I _love_ it when people come through the front door,” he said. “Thank you, Miss. Frye. Isaac’s told me everything you’ve done today; here’s your payment as promised.” There was a few neatly stacked, freshly-minted notes wrapped together on the table. Evie smiled and hid them away. Mr. Wynert watched her carefully, but before she left he said, “Miss Frye, is something the matter?”

“Of course not, Mr. Wynert,” she said smoothly, clasping her hands in front of her.

“Truly? Well, never mind then. If there’s anything you need, let me know.”

Evie hesitated for a moment. She disliked showing weakness, especially to allies, but he offered this so often, perhaps… “Actually, Mr. Wynert, there _is_ something you could do for me.”

Mr. Wynert smiled and for a moment, as he laced his fingers together and placed his elbows on the table, she wondered if she’d made an error. “Oh?” He asked, looking interested.

“I haven’t been able to find my brother anywhere,” she said. “If one of your people spot him, could you let me know?”

Mr. Wynert raised his eyebrows. “I can do more than that, Miss Frye. I could have him tailed for you. I myself am interested in where Jacob Frye spends his free time.”

 _He shouldn’t_ have _a lot of free time,_ Evie thought, a little cross. They had a job to do, and while there were pauses when their information wasn’t quite so forthcoming, there were still things to be done. _Helpful_ things. Hell, even _Rook_ business was doing something, but it seemed as though Jacob wasn’t even doing that.

She thought about the offer for a moment. She hated the idea of spying on her brother. There were boundaries, and although the constantly toed the line, she knew he still liked to have his privacy. They always knew when they had gone too far and when to stop, even if things hate lately been… heated between them.

But still, he was being so _secretive_ lately, and knowing Jacob it was probably something stupid. She rubbed her fingers together before nodding slowly. “Thank you, Mr. Wynert. I think I’ll take you up on that. But please, I don’t need any sort of details. Just where he’s going is enough for me.”

“You’re welcome, Miss Frye. I’ll get my people right on it. Have a delightful evening.” He went back to his work and Evie went back to the train, hoping that something good would come out of this.

* * *

Finding someone to trail Jacob Frye was not altogether difficult. Ned just needed to find someone who was smart enough to do what he was told, and was able to seem like an absolute idiot. And he knew just the man for the job.

“Nigel! How are you? Come in, I’ve got a job for you.”

Nigel Bumble took his hat off and sat down across from Ned. “Hullo, Mr. Wynert. How can I help you t’day?”

“You know Jacob Frye, right? You’re one of his Rooks now, I hear, so you must be.” Ned was a little bitter about this. Nigel was a good informant; reliable, unsuspecting, and had a good work ethic. To find out he was working more for the Frye Twins had been a bit of a blow, but it helped him see into the heart of the operation, especially since he was so close to someone who lived and ran the train, Agnes MacBean. A nice lady, an even nicer train, she had taken Nigel under her wing, thinking him no more than a stupid young man who often got into trouble.

It was true that Nigel was not a wise man, but he was intelligent enough. He nodded at Ned’s question. “Yessir, I am now. S’all good fun, too; them Blighters have been a thorn for some time.”

“Too true.” Ned smiled thinly. “Nigel, do you have any idea where Jacob goes during his free time?”

Nigel thought about this, frowning and rubbing his chin. “‘Fraid not. Topping’s fight clubs are a good bet, I see ‘im there every now an’ then. He’s good, I always bet on him!” He smiled. “I’ve made some coin off’a him.” He paused and considered Ned’s question a little more. “I could find out where he’s going though, if it’s important.”

Ned smiled, a little more genuinely now. “That would be great. Thank you, Nigel. I’ll pay you, too.”

It took a while to get Nigel out of his office after that—the man was always loath to leave—but once it was quiet again, Ned sighed, breathing a little more freely and thought. He hadn’t told Evie what he knew about Jacob’s whereabouts. Then again, she hadn’t asked him where Jacob was, so it wasn’t like he had _lied_ to her.

This was going to be a mess of a situation, Ned just knew it. Both for himself _and_ for Jacob. What did he think he was doing, messing around with a _Blighter_ of all people? A dangerous Blighter at that, if he could beat Jacob up like he was nothing. He wondered if he ought to have told Evie about that. HE wondered if it was his place.

He wondered why, oh _why_ had he offered to have Jacob tailed? He didn’t need to; this wasn’t his problem. But then, Evie had asked for no details, so perhaps he could still distance himself from this. Ned took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes. Well, there was nothing to be done until he knew where that cheeky bastard was going.

… “Cheeky”? When had he started using that word? _Dear God I’m going native,_ he thought and groaned a little.

“Everything alright there?”

Ned squinted at the doorway and grabbed his glasses. He could tell it was Isaac without them, but he pushed them back on anyway. “Can I ask you some advice?” He said.

Isaac shrugged. “I’d be a shit advisor if I told you no. Ask away, punk.”

Ned’s lip quirked a little, but faded as he asked, “Am I getting too involved in the Fryes’ problems?”

Isaac shrugged. “That depends. What’s going on?”

Ned sighed, made a split-second decision, and spilled the whole story out to him. Isaac strolled over to the empty chair while he spoke and sat down, listening intently. When Ned Finished, he nodded.

“Yeah. I’d say you’re getting too involved alright. But you’ve already committed to this, and making enemies out of the Frye Twins is the last thing we want to do. Do this job, get it done, and then leave it where it is, alright? You don’t want this Blighter on you if he finds out what’s going on.”

Ned nodded. “You’re right. Thanks.” He paused then and frowned. “Was there a reason you came in here?”

“Oh, right.” Isaac stood. “John still hasn’t been found, I’m sorry to say. There’s not much else for me to do, so I’m heading out for the day. Your secretary, Julia, she’s going to be late, but you don’t have anything for another hour or so.”

“Thank you, Isaac. See you tomorrow.”

“See ya, punk. And remember, stay away from this, Jacob Frye seems like bad news, I’m glad you cut him loose. Don’t fuck this up.”

“Trying my best, Isaac!” Ned called as the man left, then rolled his eyes as he left. The sooner this was over, the sooner he could be free of this whole diabolical mess.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's note was left by AlwaysAmused herself, in the document she left with me while she was gone!
> 
> Scientists only started investigating touch (specifically touch-hunger/people being touch-starved) after WWII. Thus, the term touch-starved hadn’t been invented yet. Jacob is touch-starved to a certain extent. He does also love good, physical attention, since the usual touch he receives is a violent one.

Jacob liked to think he was fairly subtle when he put his mind to it. Rather, he was good at redirecting someone’s attentions so they didn’t notice whatever it was he was doing. For instance, as soon as Evie got close to whatever he as hiding, or asked if he was hiding something, all he had to do was say something snide about their father. She would get angry, they would argue, she would forget all about her original question, and stormed away after about two minutes.

It worked like a charm every time. Jacob didn’t like riling up his sister, not really, but at least it worked.

 _Wynert_ though, he was different. Try to redirect his attentions and he’d follow that path for a while. But then, it seemed, he’d _always_ try to get back to the original point. It was annoying, and Jacob didn’t know how to stop that other than avoid the man completely. This wasn’t a terribly hard thing to do nowadays, not since Wynert had banned him from doing jobs for him, but it was hard to tell where he had spies.

He hadn’t always been aware that Ned had spies. Informants, yes, but when he thought about it, that was basically the same thing. Roth had pointed that out to him gently. It was obvious once he said it, and Jacob felt a little stupid for not realizing it sooner.

“Indeed, it’s possible some of your Rooks are spies, my dear Jacob,” Roth had said. Jacob had rolled it over in his mind. Roth was probably right; after all, the Rooks helped with jobs for Ned _somehow_. It wasn’t altogether too surprising, considering how well Wynert paid.

Thus, Jacob had started avoiding the Rooks completely, except when it was strictly necessary. Perhaps Evie was right. Perhaps starting a gang wasn’t such a great idea after all. But then, he thought gloomily, Evie was usually right. Well, according to everyone else.

He was walking through the streets of the Strand, utterly immersed in his own busy head until he heard a familiar voice call, “Oh! Hullo, Mr. Frye! Fancy meetin’ you here ‘n all.”

Jacob startled out of his thoughts and looked around to see Nigel stumble in his haste to get to Jacob. He straightened, a goofy smile on his face, his hat a little askew. “Where are you headed? I didn’t think th’ Strand was ours yet.”

“Not yet,” Jacob said. “I’m just… Taking a walk. Why’re you here?”

“Oh, nothin’ much,” Nigel said, falling into step with Jacob. “I’ve got some friends here ‘n there. I’m jus’ checking in on them.”

“Ah, I see. Well, I won’t keep you,” Jacob said, but Nigel shrugged.

“‘M already done,” he said. “I was just leavin’. Well, I’ll be off then!” Nigel went off and Jacob smiled after him, shaking his head a little and pushing his hands into his pockets. After a while, he ended up at the side door of the Alhambra, and made his way in. The door was locked, but that rarely stopped him, and he truly didn’t fancy meeting Lewis. He let himself in and up the stairs.

* * *

It was always a treat when Jacob decided to let himself in through the door rather than the window. It was amusing, especially since Lewis hadn’t announced the Assassin, meaning Jacob had _still_ managed to find his way inside without alerting the man. The small rivalry between Jacob and Lewis amused Maxwell to no end.

Had he once played with Lewis like he was playing around with Jacob? Yes, but _that_ game was never intended to end with blood for Lewis. Maxwell watched Jacob enter, watched his eyes scan the room before meeting his, and the boy relaxed. It would be a pity to one day have to kill him, unless he could convince Jacob to come to his side. _That_ would be a most daring venture, and one he hoped would succeed. He always had a backup plan, however.

“Hello, darling,” Maxwell said, smiling as Jacob walked in. He seemed to be bothered by something, the way his eyes darted to the window before returning to him.

“Afternoon,” Jacob replied, tilting his head in an almost playful way. Maxwell mirrored him and frowned a little.

“What’s the matter, Jacob? You seem a bit _tense_.”

“Oh, nothing,” he said, taking off his coat. “I’ve simply got… I’ve been thinking about what you said last time. About Ned’s spies.”

Maxwell raised his eyebrows. Good, he’d listened then. “Do you think they’re after you?”

“Well I haven’t spotted anyone following me.”

Hm. It wasn’t a no, Max noticed. He’d question Jacob in a minute, but first… “But you’re still worried, am I right?”

Jacob nodded slowly. It was always nice to get him to admit something he didn’t want to, like fear, or something he deemed childish. Max hummed and offered his hand, and Jacob immediately came like he’d been called, kneeling by his armchair. Max ran his fingers through Jacob’s hair. The boy wanted physical affection like one might require air, he drank it up like water, and like a man in the desert, he always wanted more.

Well. That was something Maxwell could arrange. It was nice having someone so eager to please, especially one who was so wrapped around his finger like Jacob was. He smiled as Jacob closed his eyes, pressing into the touch. “Well darling, you’re hardly any fun, tense like this. Perhaps we should fix that?”

He lifted his voice a little, framing it as a question, letting Jacob take in what it implied. Max knew what Jacob would reply with; he would see it as a request, or rather, an _order_. It very rarely was; no one had forced Jacob to accept his invitation the very first time, and Max had made sure to let Jacob know that.

Jacob opened his eyes and looked at Max before nodding and starting to unbutton his shirt. Max smiled. “I’d like you on the bed please, my dear. On your back.” The bruises had healed up very nicely, he’d noticed as Jacob complied with the order. Cane marks lasted for quite some time and hurt all the while; it was one of his more favorite implements. It had been very _fascinating_ when Jacob had escaped. It had also been a much-needed reminder that this was an Assassin.

It was a thrill to know Jacob could kill him at any moment. It was a pleasure to know he wouldn’t, not now, not when Jacob _trusted_ him. Max could almost laugh; when was the last time someone had actually trusted him?

Never mind that now. Jacob had gotten on the bed and was waiting patiently. Yes, he had learned quite a bit of patience. Maxwell was proud of him in a way. He rolled up his sleeves and removed his shoes, looking up and down Jacob’s naked form. A delicious sight, truly. He ran his fingers over Jacob’s back and felt him tense under his fingers.

“Relax, darling,” he murmured and straddled him, still fully clothed, and putting his hands and fingers everywhere, digging into hard muscle, trying to loosen it up a little. He ran his palms against Jacob’s spine, lifting himself to his knees every so often and putting all of his weight down to hear a satisfying _crack_. The first time it happened Jacob had jumped.

“What the _hell_ -”

“Nothing dangerous, darling. I assure you, it is no different from cracking knuckles before a fight.” He did it again. “Doesn’t that feel good?” Everything in Jacob’s body-language told him that yes, he _was_ enjoying this. Maxwell carried on until Jacob had relaxed considerably, then got off him. “Turn over, dearest. Now the _real_ fun starts.”

It was always a joy watching Jacob’s face during sex, especially earlier on when he still got embarrassed by Max’s antics. Max was now glad to say that there were times when Jacob was _just_ as devious. Again, Maxwell found himself proud; Jacob had come so far. It really would be a pity to lose him; he hoped Jacob would be able to see, however, and come join him. He was infinitely more interesting than Lewis, if not quite as practically useful.

Max started by taking Jacob’s cock in one hand, flicking his thumb over the head, and by putting his mouth on Jacob’s neck. Jacob shifted his head a little to expose more of it, sighing and squirming a little in pleasure. Max then removed himself and unbuttoned his shirt a little before pulling it off over his head and tossing it aside carelessly, then shucking his trousers as well with one hand so he could continue working Jacob’s cock.

 _Mine,_ Max thought as Jacob started making little noises. He’d lifted his knees now and Max sat between them, stroking the inside of his thigh, smoothing his hand over the firm muscle of his torso.

“Max- Maxwell-” Jacob was starting to lose control of himself and Maxwell smiled, shushing him gently, putting a hand on his knee to keep his legs separated. It had been a good idea, letting Jacob use his given name. Well, not his _given_ name, although Max supposed it counted; he certainly gave _himself_ the name of Maxwell Roth. But then he supposed Roth would _also_ be his “given” name. And certainly nothing about any part of him could be considered _Christian_ , so calling it that was definitely out of the question.

It was an amusing thought, though. It hardly bothered him now; after all, what was in a name?

Jacob’s pleasure came, and his come spilled over Maxwell’s hand. Maxwell stroked him through it, then let his cock fall limp. Jacob’s chest was rising and falling hard and Maxwell took his momentary distraction to get up and wipe off his hand. He grabbed the jar of slick from the drawers and came back. Jacob’s eyes were still closed when he came back, but they opened as Maxwell settled back on the bed, a question in his eyes.

“No need to move, darling,” Maxwell said. “I’ll take you like this, hmm?”

There was a slight look of dread in Jacob’s eyes, but he nodded nevertheless, clearly tired from his pleasure. Max smiled and patted his knee. “Very good. Just relax for me and let me do the work, yes? Good.”

Jacob relaxed more under the praise. It was something Maxwell had noticed early on, Jacob’s appreciation of praise. It didn’t take long for him to realize it; Jacob clearly got none from his family, and what friend would think to praise? But praise him Max did, and Jacob fell helplessly more in love.

 _Love_. Such a naughty word, in Max’s opinion, he thought as he slicked his fingers and inserted one into Jacob slowly, easing him open. Did Jacob think he was in love with him? _He wouldn’t be the first,_ Max thought, thinking of Lewis once more. There were countless others that had fallen to his charms, then to his blade, or gun, or hand. In a way, he knew Lewis loved him still, only stayed because he was both afraid of him, and afraid of being sent away. It was a power Maxwell lived for, a power he _thrived_ on. Fuck the Templars and their world-dominating agenda. Who wanted the world? That seemed like too much work and so _very_ little play.

He inserted another finger into Jacob, let him settle, and continued opening him up. He was relaxed, but ever so wonderfully tight. He pulled his fingers out, slicked them again, and inserted three now, feeling Jacob tense around him in surprise before slowly relaxing again. Max pressed a kiss to his knee and pulled his fingers out, using the excess slick to prepare himself before pushing himself in.

He focused on the sensations that went with sex, as well as what Jacob had said when he came in. He was worried about Wynert’s spies, hmm? He would have to think about it later and perhaps bring it up. For now, Maxwell pushed it from his mind as his pleasure built and he leaned over Jacob to bite and suck at his collarbone, marking his way down, the intensity of his bites growing until he was almost done, and Jacob was flinching under his mouth.

Maxwell tasted blood, he came, and he waited a few moments before removing himself from between Jacob’s legs. Jacob’s jaw was set, his eyes closed. Had Maxwell really been thinking, he would have taken care of himself first, _then_ gotten Jacob off. But what was done was done, and Maxwell lied down beside Jacob, coaxing him into his arms. As he predicted, Jacob leaned into the gentle touch. It was like he was starved for affection* and well, if that was the case, then Maxwell would give him more, just enough that he’d come back begging for more, _craving_ more.

It wasn’t like he was getting this attention elsewhere. His sister certainly wasn’t giving it to him; from what he’d heard, she certainly seemed as comfortable to cuddle with as a brick. Or perhaps like a block of ice.

Jacob settled against his chest and Maxwell traced the bites along his jaw. He would have to wash them before Jacob left, to avoid infection. They looked beautiful.

He waited for Jacob to close his eyes, allowing them both to rest for a moment before asking, “Darling, what does Wynert know about us?”

Jacob shifted in his arms. “Nothing important.”

Maxwell hummed and tapped his forehead. “Not what I asked, my dear. Answer the question, please, you know how I hate avoidance, hmm?”

He stroked Jacob’s hair to show he wasn’t upset with him, simply amused. Indeed, it _was_ amusing whenever Jacob attempted to avoid answering a question. Sometimes Maxwell even “let” him get away with it by pretending not to notice.

Jacob shifted, a little uncomfortable now and Maxwell frowned as he said, “He… Well, I mean he doesn’t know _details_. He just…” Jacob sighed. “He knows I’m seeing someone. A man. A _Blighter_.”

Maxwell was careful not to let his hand still, not to let Jacob know anything was wrong even as anger simmered in the pit of his stomach. _Stupid_! If he was already paranoid about Wynert’s spies, then why come here at all? Wynert _surely_ knew where his hideout was; indeed, Maxwell didn’t keep it quite as hidden as he needed to keep it. He’d grown _overconfident_ with the Blighter’s power. Indeed, he still had most of the Strand, but Jacob and his sister had taken quite a bit of London.

Never mind that now. He rolled over this information in his head. So, Wynert knew about him. Or, he _would_. Max hummed and traced his thumb over Jacob’s cheekbone. “Darling, did you see anyone on your way here? A Rook, perhaps?”

Jacob frowned and shrugged. “No. Well- _Nigel_ , but he more works for Agnes than for me.”

“Ah, I see.” Yes, Nigel Bumble. The urchin who stole the Gatling gun. It was impressive, Maxwell thought. He would have laughed if the end hadn’t resulted in the total loss of the gun. “Why was he around the Strand, darling? He’s a Rook, and rather young as well, didn’t you say?”

Jacob frowned a little. “Said he was visiting family, I think.”

 _A likely story,_ Max thought. The boy had no family in London, he knew that. Clearly lying and likely ran into Jacob on purpose. A very unsuspecting spy, seeing as Jacob clearly didn’t suspect him. Just the kind of person Wynert would hire.

Maxwell said nothing to Jacob about it, but made a mental note to have the boy taken care of. He’d already caused quite a bit of trouble for the Blighters. It was likely too late to send someone after him now before he reached Wynert.

A sudden thought occurred to him. “Jacob darling, where exactly did you meet Nigel?”

“Um… Not terribly far from here, I don’t think.”

 _Dammit!_ Maxwell hummed and pressed a kiss to Jacob’s forehead, waited a few moments, then said, “I’ll be back in a moment, darling, I’ve just remembered something.”

“Mm-hmm.”

Maxwell pulled on a dressing gown, tossed a blanket over Jacob in an afterthought, and left. “Lewis!”

“Yes, Mr. Roth?”

“Be a dear and send out a notice to my top men.” The ones still loyal to him and not Starrick. “I need them for a little… _project_.”

“Of course, sir.”

Maxwell smiled and placed two fingers under his chin, in a quick, almost affectionate motion. “Thank you, darling. There is _much_ that must be done.”

He went back upstairs, his mind already scheming and planning.

Oh, this was going to be _fun_.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well, everyone, things are about to get very bad for several people. Any bets on who?
> 
> No warnings for this chapter!

Evie was used to seeing Rooks on the train, of all ages and genders. The usual contenders were a small group that had memorized the train’s schedule at specific stations, and although Evie knew Nigel occasionally found his way to the train, it was still a surprise to find him crouching below a window, peeking up and out the window every so often before ducking back into hiding. He was oblivious to Evie, and so she watched this odd behavior from the other side of the car until she spoke up.

“Nigel, what are you doing? Are you hiding from someone?”

Nigel predictably yelped and turned, pressing his back to the wall. “Ah! Hullo, Miss Frye. Sorry, I didn’t mean t’ intrude an’ all, but there’s some Blighters after me.”

A spark of annoyance rose within Evie at that. “And what did you do to spark their interest?” She asked, hoping it wasn’t anything _too_ stupid.

“I dunno, swear on m’honor! But s’like someone pain’ed a target on my head!”

He sounded understandably upset and Evie frowned. “You didn’t steal anything else from them?”

“No ma’m, _nothing_. I’ve been minding m’own business! And doin’ some things for Mr. Wynert, but nothin’ involved them Blighters, I promise!”

She believed him, however reluctantly. He was only sixteen after all, and perhaps his lack of wit was due to his age. Though, she had to admit she doubted that at times. Trouble seemed to find Nigel easily when he didn’t spark it himself. She wondered if Mr. Wynert knew what was going on.

“I’ll investigate the matter, Nigel,” she decided. “In the meantime, lay low here.” She paused and added, “But you likely don’t need to hide _quite_ like this. Only in stations.”

A huge grin spread across Nigel’s face and he stood up a little clumsily, taking her hand and shaking it. “Oh, thank you, Miss Frye! I do appreciate it! Thank you!”

Evie extracted her hand from Nigel’s clutches and left the car, hopping off the train and heading off to Mr. Wynert’s offices. There was an unusual energy around the place, people talking in hushed voices, uncertainty tinting the halls. Evie went to the secretary’s office and found Isaac standing and talking to a woman. He looked up as she entered.

“Ah, Miss. Frye. I assume you’ve heard?”

Evie blinked. “Heard what?” She asked, frowning.

Isaac looked around then beckoned her to follow him into Ned’s office. It was empty, to Evie’s surprise, and she looked around before asking, “Where’s Mr. Wynert?”

Isaac sighed and shut the door behind her. “Then you haven’t heard. He’s gone missing. We can’t find him anywhere. He’s not at his home, no one’s seen him for at _least_ a day. I’ve taken over the company, and we’ve got people looking, but no one’s seen anything yet. And we can’t exactly go to the police, given Ned’s… _profession_.”

“I understand,” Evie said. “What can I do to help?”

Isaac looked relieved. “I’m putting together a list of Ned’s enemies—Well, important ones with enough power to _do_ something. Could I meet you on your train and give it to you later? I’ll investigate on my own, but it’ll be more efficient if I’ve got more eyes and ears open.”

Evie nodded. “That’s a good idea. Of course, the train will stop at Waterloo at six. I presume you know what it looks like?”

“Yes, I know. Thank you, Miss. Frye, this takes a weight off. I’ve been checking morgues just in case, but… As of now, nothing has turned up.”

“Good. I’ll see you tonight then.” Evie hurried her way out of the offices and made her way back to the train. Nigel was now sitting next to Agnes’s desk, tuning out their conversation as she immersed herself in one of the novels Henry had brought along, waiting for Jacob to return.

He did, later in the day. She looked up at him and put the book down. “Jacob, have you seen Wynert lately?”

Jacob grunted and took his coat off, hanging it up. “Why would I have seen him?” He said. Evie frowned. He stood to the side, his eyes slightly guarded. She shifted her weight to one leg.

“There’s no need to be so defensive. I asked because he’s gone missing. No one’s seen him for the last day. His manager, Mr. Isaacs-”

“I thought his _given_ name was Isaac?”

Evie paused. “I- No, I’m sure it’s…” She shook her head. “That’s getting away from the point. The _point_ is that he’s coming by later with a list of people who could have potentially kidnapped him. I’ve volunteered us to be on the lookout.”

It was Jacob’s turn to frown now. “Why?” He asked. Evie stared at him becoming more and more bewildered.

“‘Why?’ Because he’s an _ally_ , Jacob!”

“It’s only been a day,” Jacob said. “ _I’ve_ disappeared for longer.”

“Yes, and it worries me no less. Besides that, he would have told someone, and _no one’s_ seen or heard from him. And Isaacs has checked his home; he’s not there either.”

Jacob sighed. “Fine, I’ll stay and wait for Isaac.”

“Isaacs.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s Isaac, Evie. There’s a notable lack of an _S_ at the end.”

“No there isn’t!”

Agnes and Nigel had looked up now and Agnes sighed. “What are ye’ two on about now?”

Jacob turned. “You know Wynert’s manager, Isaac?”

Nigel nodded vigorously, and Agnes frowned. “Can’t say I’m sure who that is.”

“Sort of stocky, short blond hair, an’ brown eyes,” Nigel said. “Usually calls Mr. Wynert a punk when ‘e thinks no one else’s around.”

“Yeah, him,” Jacob said. “What’s his full name?”

“Isaac Yitzhak,” Nigel said, blinking. “But everyone calls him Isaac. ‘S what he introduces ‘imself as, so.” He shrugged. Jacob gave Evie a smug look, and she reddened.

“Fine, so I was wrong,” she snapped, embarrassment digging into her gut. “I can admit that.”

“What? What was that Evie?” Jacob’s grin widened. “I didn’t hear you, what did you say?”

“Oh, shut up, Jacob.” She moved into a different car, her body humming with anger and irritation. She’d been wrong. So what? It _did_ happen, although not often when Jacob was concerned. She must have misheard, that’s all. She took a few deep breaths, calmed down, and peered out the window. Waterloo station was approaching, and with a flick of her Vision, she saw Isaac waiting on the platform, hands shoved into the pockets of his coat.

Evie moved back into the next car as he got on. He smiled at Nigel, curled up next to Agnes’s desk still and looking nervously at the windows. Isaac then turned, and Evie held her hand out to shake. “Mr. Yitzhak,” she said, and Isaac’s eyebrows raised. He grinned a little.

“Isaac’s fine, please, Miss Frye,” he said. “Miss MacBean, Nigel, Jacob.” He waited until the train had left the station before continuing.

“Mr. Wynert hasn’t been seen for two days,” he said. “Approaching three. Now, you’ve already offed a few of the people who can still off him—most notably, Pearl Attaway, Lucy Thorne, and Philip Twopenny—but there’s still some out there. Starrick is one of them, and I’ve got a couple of people investigating there. Another is Maxwell Roth, the leader of the Blighters, but I can’t really investigate him. One of you will have to-”

“I’ll do it. I’ll check out Freddy, too.”

Isaac paused midsentence and looked at Jacob with a scrutinizing and unreadable look. “Alright. Please report back to me with your findings. If you’re talking about who I think you’re talking about…”

“Abberline,” Jacob confirmed. Isaac nodded.

“Good. Yes, he’ll know what’s going on there.”

Evie nodded. “I’ll go investigate Topping. He’s got a fairly good sense of what goes around on the streets”

“Robert?” Isaac shook his head. “I’ve already got him looking. If you could check in on him though, I’d appreciate that. Abberline’s a good lead though, thanks.” He nodded at Jacob.

“Do we know when he was taken?” Jacob asked, sticking his hands in his pockets. Isaac shook his head.

“I’ve looked around, but there’s nothing really at his home.”

Evie frowned and looked at Jacob. “I can look at the flat.”

Jacob nodded once. “Alright. That it? Yes? I’ll get right on it, then.” He grabbed his coat and was off. Isaac watched him leave, frowning a little, before turning to Evie.

“Is he alright?” He asked.

“Just being a prat,” she said. “But that’s nothing new. Thank you for your concern.”

Isaac hummed. “Well, I’ll not bother you any longer, Miss Frye. I must be back; I look forward to seeing what you find.”

As Evie watched, he tilted his hat at her, smiled, and walked out of the car, leaping off the train and to the opposite tracks as easily as if he were an Assassin himself.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just letting everyone know, next chapter we get into some DARK territory. You see every warning tag that hasn't come into play yet? Yeah, they're about to, as well as the return of some of the previous ones.
> 
> Don't worry though, dear readers, there will be no mention of the most feared warning of all.... Attafrye ;)

Roth was sitting on the roof when Jacob approached the Alhambra, legs dangling from the side and a cigarette between his fingers. The smoke curled into intricate patterns before the wind whisked it away. The older man didn’t look up as Jacob approached, sitting down next to him.

“Have you ever seen anything more divine than the moon?” Roth asked, smoke snaking its way from his mouth as he spoke.

“Um.” Jacob looked up at the sky. “Stars?”

Roth hummed, but didn’t seem to be all there. Jacob sighed a little. “Maxwell, d’you know where Ned Wynert’s gone off to?”

“Hmm?”

“Ned Wynert.”

Roth frowned and took another drag of his cigarette before handing it off to Jacob. “Why would I know?”

“Because between the two of you, nothing in London goes unnoticed. If anyone knows where he is, you’d know.” Jacob took a drag off the cigarette and handed it back to Roth.

Roth looked at him then, smiling a little. “High compliment, darling.” He smoked for a bit. “I don’t keep terrible track of Wynert’s comings and goings. What she does is of little concern to me. But if it suits you, I’ll keep my eyes and ears open.”

“He.”

“Mm. We’ll agree to disagree, darling.” Roth took one last drag off his cigarette and flicked it over the edge, standing a moment later. “Come, let’s have a drink.” He offered his hand to Jacob.

“I should really be getting back,” Jacob said. “I’m expected to report back about what I find out…” Roth’s hand stayed here it was, expectantly, silently, until Jacob gave in and took it. Roth smiled and hauled him to his feet, placing a hand on his shoulder. Jacob then found himself being pulled in and kissed, all teeth and tongue and cigarette smoke as Roth ravaged his mouth. When Jacob pulled back, Roth’s eyes were glittering.

“Come! I’ve promised a drink and I intend to make good.” He led the way back into the building and down to the bedroom. Jacob sat down as Roth busied himself with the drinks. “I’m afraid I can’t make myself available for the next few days,” he said. “I have an old friend visiting from America for business. On an unrelated note, it appears I only have wine.”

“That’s fine with me,” Jacob said, leaning back in his chair. “What about this guest though? Anyone I know?”

“Oh, not really.” Roth said dismissively, pouring the wine. He brought the glasses to the table and handed one to Jacob, taking the opposite seat. “You might have heard me talk about her, though. A Miss Henrietta Wynn, from New York?”

Jacob shook his head slowly, sipping from his wine. “No, I’ve never heard of her. You been friends for a while?”

Roth hummed, sipping his own wine. “Less… _friends_ , darling. More _acquaintances_.” He paused, smiled, and added, “No need to be jealous either, darling. I assure you, this is only business. _But_ , she’s staying here, so I must ask you to make yourself scarce for a while.”

“Alright,” Jacob replied. He sipped at his wine a little more before there was a tap at the door. With a sigh, Roth put his wine down and went to answer, voices too low for Jacob to hear. Not that he was interested in doing so.

Roth returned and picked up his wine. “My apologies for cutting this short, my dear,” he said, “but I have sudden business to attend to. Please, feel free to finish that before you go.”

“Alright,” Jacob said, nodding. “Give Miss Wynn my regards.”

Roth laughed as he head towards the door, pausing to turn before he shut it. “I most certainly will, Jacob.” He blew a kiss and shut the door, his laughter still booming down the hall.

Jacob took his time drinking the rest of his wine, then drank the rest of Roth’s as well. It would be a shame to waste good wine, he thought as he made his way out of the Alhambra. He looked at the time, nodded, and made his way to Scotland Yard.

Unsurprisingly enough, Abberline was still there. It had been a while since Jacob had seen him, and he grinned. “Freddy!”

Abberline jumped a mile into the air and looked up, eyes widening. “Oh, no. No, no, you’ve caused enough trouble. And it’s _Sargent_.”

“Aw, c’mon now, Freddy.” Jacob stuck his hands in his pockets. “I just need a little information.”

“Information I am _likely_ not _legally able_ to give you!” Abberline got up, scooping some papers and putting them away. “Please, Frye, I was just about to go home.”

“What luck! I’ll walk you. I’ve got a couple questions about Ned Wynert.”

“Wh-Whom?”

“Y’know, Ned Wynert? Runs Wynert an’ Company?”

“I haven’t the _slightest_ -”

“Please, Freddy, I won’t take five minutes of your time.”

“No! You won’t!” Abberline got up and grabbed his hat and coat. “Good _evening_ , Frye.”

He shot out the door and Jacob sighed, defeated. If he pushed, Evie would probably be on his case about “jeopardizing another alliance” or something. He went back out into the streets and walked to the nearest station to wait for the train.

When he got on, he found Evie pouring over some papers, chewing on her lip. She glanced up as Jacob came in and raised her eyebrows. “Ah, there you are. Roth have anything?”

Jacob shook his head. “Nothing. Didn’t even know Wynert had gone missing. What’s that, then?” He nodded at her papers.

“Ah- Nothing, really. Notes from when I visited Topping and Ned’s flat. Topping had a couple of leads, but.” She sighed. “Nothing solid yet. They’re sure he was taken on his way home from work; that gives us a good six or seven hours before anyone realized he was missing. Isaac said he left the offices at a quarter past eleven, and he usually comes in to open. The flat sort of has that feel, too, but when I got there… Well, I don’t think he ever made it home last night.

“I also stopped by a few places and told the Rooks to keep their eyes out, and if anyone’s got information to come forward.”

Jacob hummed and flopped down onto the sofa, crossing his legs and leaning back. “I tried talking to Freddy. Emphasis on the ‘tried.’ You’re going to have to do him, he doesn’t want to talk to me.”

Evie gave him a Look. “Well, you _did_ make a mess of the bank.” She stacked her notes and got up. “I’ll talk to Abberline-”

“You’re the best, Evie.”

“… _If_ you talk to Bell.”

Jacob groaned. “ _Why_ are we talking to him? What could he _possibly_ have on this?”

“He’s an ally and he has worked for Wynert. We have _no leads_ , Jacob. We need everything we can. Besides.” She put a hand on her hip. “He’s not _that_ bad.”

“Oh, come off it, you loath him,” Jacob said. “He flirts with you every time you’re there! And not even _well_!”

“Yes, well,” Evie shrugged. “Maybe that’s why I don’t want to talk to him.”

Ah. That made more sense, even if Jacob didn’t like it. “ _Fine_. I’ll talk to him. S’not too late, is it?”

“It is, actually,” she said. “And I’m going to bed. Are you staying here tonight?”

“Mhmm.”

“Well. Don’t stay up too late then. Goodnight, Jacob.”

“Yes, _Gran_.” Evie shot him a dirty look before retreating to the next car and Jacob took his hat off, tossing it to the floor and kicking off his shoes. There was a book resting on the table and Jacob picked it up and flopped sideways onto his back, throwing his feet over the armrest.

The String of Pearls: A Romance _. Scandalous_ , he thought and flipped open. Ahh, a penny dreadful. _Lovely_. He couldn’t see Greenie or Evie having one of these. _Must belong to a Rook,_ he thought and started skimming.

Before terribly long, Jacob heard someone come into the car and looked up to see Nigel. He raised his eyebrows and put the book on his chest. “Good evening, Nigel,” he said. “What brings you here?”

Nigel’s eyes widened, and he jumped when he saw Jacob, clutching his hat. “Ah! O-Oh! Hullo, Mr. Frye! I was just looking for something, um…”

“A penny dreadful, by any chance?”

It was hard to tell in the dim light of the car, but Jacob thought he saw a flush appear on Nigel’s ears and cheeks. “Uhm… Yessir.” He shuffled his feet and Jacob almost snorted as he sat up, closing the book and holding it out.

“Here you are.” Nigel shuffled forward to take it, mumbling his thanks. Jacob shrugged, grinning. “Don’t mention it. But, how does it end?”

“Dunno yet,” Nigel said. “Miss MacBean let me borrow it, but I ain’t started it yet. Is it good?”

Jacob shrugged. “It’s alright. See you, Nigel.”

“G’night, Mr. Frye.” Nigel hurried out again. As soon as Nigel was safely in the next car, Jacob sniggered to himself, taking off his coat and getting comfortable. He wondered how long Nigel had been on the train, considering he had been there all day, but dismissed it. The fool had probably done something to upset someone and, well, the train was open to _all_ Rooks who needed a quick place to stay.

Jacob shifted again on the sofa. It had been a while since he’d slept on it, and he found it quite uncomfortable compared to Roth’s bed. He huffed and turned over, grabbing a blanket from under the sofa and pulled it over him before drifting off, feeling every bump in the tracks.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fyi, the Attafrye thing was a joke. There is no more mention of Pearl in this fic as far as I'm aware, I was just kidding about the fact that, of all the dark themes in this fic, that ship is what got me called names that should earn their own warning lol. Have a good night lovelies!   
> Side note, next chapter will likely be the last one I post, since AlwaysAmused is coming back into town!


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You remember the warnings for transphobia, dead-naming, and misgendering? Yeah. This.
> 
> So this chapter is coming out about twenty minutes early. If you saw the update that AlwaysAmused had up for a little while, you'll know that I'm having a pretty huge family emergency. Like, laying on the floor of the hospital ICU as we speak kind of huge. But I wanted to make sure everyone got their chapter today. AlwaysAmused is coming home tomorrow, so she'll take up posting again on Saturday. Thank you guys for all the support this month!

Ned was not having the best of evenings. In fact, it was about as far away from “best” as it could probably go, given it had resulted in him tied up in a chair with a raging headache, his limbs going numb from being tied down, and a desperate need to pee.

It had started out alright, all things considered. He had eaten the sandwich Isaac had brought him, finished all the work he’d needed to do, hadn’t shouted at anyone’s incompetence. When he’d finished up the last of his paperwork, Isaac had sent him home. He’d gone slower than usual, his mind settling back on the problem he’d had shoved in the back of his mind all day—hint: it started with “Jacob” and ended with “Frye”—when someone had grabbed him from behind and pulled him into an alleyway.

A cloth had been soaked in chloroform. Ned didn’t need to be a genius to figure that out. He’d tried to shout for help, but it hadn’t worked, and after what seemed like forever, he’d fallen unconscious.

He’d woken up in the carriage with a blindfold on and a gag in his mouth, and the raging chloroform-induced headache, along with disorientation. As a result, he hadn’t thought to fight back as they carried him to wherever he currently was.

Ned wasn’t sure, but he _thought_ he’d eventually fallen asleep.

Waking up felt like he was reaching through a too-large barrel of molasses for his consciousness. He kept almost reaching it, then it slipped from his fingers to send him back into darkness. His head throbbed, but only a little now. He tried to reach a hand up to rub at his eyes and head, only to find them tied down.

He woke a little more, groaning at his neck protested. It was dimly lit, his limbs felt fuzzy, and going by the absence of a slight weight on his nose and the overall blobbiness of the shadows around him, his glasses were gone. Great. Wonderful. _Just_ what he needed. He tried wiggling around, only to find he’d been tied down to a chair. He rolled is neck and tried to stretch his shoulders out as best he could, trying to see behind and around him. The only light source in the room was behind him, casting shadows around. There was no door in his field of vision either, leading him to believe it was behind him.

The room itself was boring, to say the least. No windows, made of brick and concrete, rough under his feet, slowly going numb.

Oh. They’d taken his shoes and socks as well. And his suit jacket, hat, tie. Well, wasn’t that just _lovely_? His shirt was unbuttoned some as well. He didn’t like it. If he were anyone else, he might admit he was scared. But he was Ned Wynert, and getting scared was for sissies.

 _Fuck_.

He wondered how long he’d been out for. His limbs were properly numb now, his back and neck ached, and he was very hungry.

Should he call out? If he’d been abandoned there then they wouldn’t have left a light on, meaning they were probably coming back at some point. Calling out would probably mean they’d come, and he wasn’t sure that’s what he wanted.

He _really_ had to piss though. With a sigh and wondering if he really was stupid, he called out in a monotone voice, “Congratulations, you’ve captured Ned Wynert. Please take any requests or ransoms to my manager Isaac.”

…Nothing happened. And then—Footsteps. Walking _away_ , meaning there _was_ a door, and _someone_ had heard him. Ned swallowed and tried not to think about who was coming for him. There were only so many people it could be at this point. A lot of his enemies couldn’t touch him. The few who could were… Well, that list was considerably small and held Crawford Starrick at the top. But why would Starrick kidnap him? He hadn’t caused any trouble for him—Nothing specific, anyway. Unless he’d found out he was working with the Frye twins.

Ned let his mind wander, wondering who was coming for him. He waited to see if the footsteps would return, but he heard nothing. Had they just walked away? Was no one coming for him after all? Dare he call out again? He could call out “Hello?” But that seemed clichéd, and Ned Wynert was _not_ clichéd, so instead he waited.

The footsteps came back eventually, then stopped. No door opened, nothing. Ned groaned and continued waiting.

It was a miserable time. It dragged on forever, and dread was growing in his stomach. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but he had another headache, and was sure he was going to wet himself any moment. He had tried going back to sleep with varying success.

Ned was almost getting to the verge of panic by the time someone came, throwing the door behind him open with a bang and startling him to attention with a “Fuck!”

“Now, now. _Language_.”

“Which one? I know four fluently and about ten others conversationally.” Ned said this almost automatically, trying to see who was around. It was a voice he recognized, and it made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end, especially when hands were placed on his shoulders, and the voice laughed.

“Very amusing. Did they teach you that at finishing school, or do you study in your free time?”

Ned tilted his head back and squinted in the dim light, making out a blurry face. “Ah. Roth.” This was about Jacob. He knew it, it had to be. Why else would Roth kidnap him _now_?

“Welcome, darling. Let’s talk.”

“I’d rather not,” Ned replied. Roth laughed and stroked his cheek. Ned leaned away from the touch sharply, but Roth moved to his front, taking his chin between his thumb and finger, forcing him to look up into what he was sure were the eyes of Satan himself.

“I wasn’t asking, my dear.” Roth took something from the corner of a room—a stool—and sat down in front of Ned, placing a hand on his knee.

“Get your hands off of me,” Ned snapped. Roth hummed.

“You’re not really in a position to make requests, my sweet. Now, I said I wanted to talk?”

“Is it about your terms for letting me go?” Ned asked. “Because otherwise I’m not really interested in _anything_ you’ve got to say.”

“Oh?” Roth raised is eyebrows. “Not even if the chosen subject of our conversation is a certain Jacob Frye?” Ned said nothing, but his heart skipped a beat and then plummeted to his stomach. He’d been right. He usually _loved_ it when he was right.

Roth laughed softly. “You’ve been sticking that pretty little nose of yours into places it shouldn’t be,” he said, his hand creeping up Ned’s thigh. “Cornering him, _pestering_ him, that wasn’t enough to satisfy you was it, you lovely creature? No, you had to send a certain _Nigel Bumble_ after him too.”

 “Don’t you _touch_ him,” Ned snarled, leaning forward as much as he could. Roth brought his hand back down to Ned’s knee and patted it.

“Now, now. Didn’t your mother ever tell you that curiosity killed the cat?”

“Satisfaction brought it back, though,” Ned replied. Roth huffed.

“I’m afraid that’s not _quite_ how fatal injuries work. A cat that gets caught is almost certainly a dead cat.”

Ned didn’t reply, his mind whirling. So, his suspicions about Jacob and Roth had been unfortunately correct. _And_ Roth knew he knew. He glowered at Roth. “You wanted to talk about Jacob?”

“Ah, darling Jacob. Yes, yes. You’ve been interfering with our _game_. So, to make sure you can’t meddle any further, I’ll be keeping you _here_.”

“For how long?” Ned asked. “Someone will notice I’m missing eventually. What then?”

Roth laughed. “Why, then _nothing_ , dear. Even if anyone thinks you’re here, I have _full_ confidence that my Jacob will steer them away. No one ever need know you’re here.”

Ned raised his eyebrows. “ _Your_ Jacob? People don’t belong to people. America had a whole war about that.”

“Mm, yes, I recall. I don’t _own_ him, of course. He’s no property of mine. No, darling, he’s all but _gifted_ himself to me in every way possible.” Roth stood. “You of all people know how deliciously _pliable_ people are. I must say, it isn’t even terribly hard; he’s _so_ eager to please, you see.” He circled around Ned. “A little compliment here, praise there. A lie now and then, and a consequence to make him think you’re on par with God.”

“Consequence?” Ned asked almost without meaning to, but the image of Jacob in his living room, back bruised and bloodied, flashed before his eyes.

“Oh, you know. A beating here, a cold shoulder there. A building of Rooks once.”

Ned’s brows furrowed. What was he… _Oh_. He twisted his neck trying to find Roth. “That explosion. That was _you_.”

Roth patted his head. “Indeed, it was. Jacob never knew; he thought it was all because of him, because he let his people rob that delivery instead of doing what I told him to do. Let me say, he’s been reluctant to disobey since then. Guild and self-loathing will do wonders. But I’m sure you’re familiar with the latter, aren’t you?”

Ned straightened. “No clue what you’re talking about.”

“Of course you do, let’s not pretend. Does the name Henrietta mean anything to you?”

Ned’s eyes widened before he could help himself, he ground his teeth together and said through them, “Not at all, asshole.”

“Come how, I don’t think that’s quite the truth, is it, Miss Wynn?” Roth took Ned’s face in his hand, fingers and thumb on either cheek, and turned his head up. “You know, it was quite difficult to find that name. I had to search and search until I found someone willing to get it up. A man named John?”

Ned’s chest burned. _John_. He’d been missing for nearly three months now. “What did you do to him?” He snarled. Roth laughed.

“Dear, dear, still protective? He gave up the information _willingly_ , my dear. I paid him for it, he accepted the money, and I sent him on his way to… _France_ , I believe it was.”

Ned spit at him. Although he didn’t have his glasses, he must have gotten lucky, for Roth flinched back. His victory was short lived however when Roth brought his left fist back and hit him squarely on the cheek, so hard the chair tipped sideways and brought him to the ground with a clatter, his head cracking against the ground. Ned’s vision darkened for a moment and the hair was pushed out of him. It was pushed out of him again when Roth kicked him in the stomach.

“You’ll live to regret that,” Roth snarled, bending down. “You _will_. Mark me.”

“Already did,” Ned mumbled, his head throbbing with each slurred word. Roth spit on him in return and pulled something from his pocket before man-handling Ned’s arm, pushing the sleeve up. Ned tried to pull away, but couldn’t move away. There was a prick of a needle and he groaned, “No, no, no… Fucking hell…”

“Goodnight, my dear.” He heard Roth say as he felt hands at his collar, moving down with the buttons. “Try not to think too much on what’s coming next, hmm?”

Helpless, that’s what he was. He couldn’t move even if he’d wanted to, couldn’t make his mouth work. He was helpless, and he could feel Roth’s hands and hated it. Half of him wanted to give into whatever drug had been put into his system while the other part of him fought against it, a losing battle for consciousness. Inevitably, he closed his eyes, and forgot what happened next.

 


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So AlwaysAmused got home safely, but managed to catch something from her roommate while abroad, so I'm posting one more chapter! Hopefully I didn't catch it from her, or we might have to find a third author... Here's the chapter note AlwaysAmused left for this bit-
> 
> From what I could find, “Az got hot geteylt dem seykhl bistu gesholfn,” means “when God was doling out brains, you were asleep.” Note: This is in Yiddish, but fyi, I do not speak Yiddish, so if anyone who does needs/has a correction, lemme know and I’ll go in and fix it! Thanks!

Alexander “Aleck” Graham Bell was possibly _the_ most irritating person Jacob had ever met in his life. The man was brilliant, Jacob knew this. He loved the gadgets Aleck had made for them, they saved loads of time, although the weird electricity bombs were kind of useless. But that didn’t stop the man from being a complete and absolute _numbskull_ when it came to any sort of social interaction. The problem was, Aleck didn’t seem to know it, and liked him and Evie. Specifically, Evie.

Therefore, it was with great trepidation that Jacob approached the man’s front door and knocked. The door opened a crack and Aleck peered out before realizing who it was and tossing the door open. “Ah! Mr. Frye! Wonderful to see you again, just wonderful! How can I help you today? Is your sister with you?”

Oh yes, and his completely indiscreet infatuation with Evie. _That_ was more amusing to Jacob, he’d poked endless fun at Evie for it; “Why be with _Mr. Green_ when you can have _Alexander Graham Bell_ all to yourself, Evie?” He’d gotten punched in the arm a moment later, but he had cackled all the while. Worth it.

“No, sorry.” Jacob said as he walked in, letting Aleck close the door behind him and snooped around the man’s workbench. “We’re on Assassin business, I need to ask you some questions about Ned Wynert.”

Aleck froze up at that, glancing around as he swallowed. “Uhm. Dunno who that is.”

“Aw, come on, Aleck,” Jacob said, looking back at him. “Don’t play dumb now. Have you seen him recently?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Like I said. Assassin business.”

“…Mr. Frye, are you out for blood?”

Jacob raised his eyebrows, amused. He could see what Aleck meant, but decided to have a bit of fun. “Depends. You willing to talk?”

Aleck went a few shades paler before Jacob waved a hand. “Nah, I’m only having you on. We work with Wynert sometimes, but he’s been hard to find recently. You seen him in the past few days?”

“Oh!” Aleck looked relieved. “No, sorry. He commissioned me for something a year or so back, but I haven’t seen him since.”

“Huh. What’d you make for him?”

“Nothing!” This was said quickly enough for Jacob to fully turn and face him, his eyebrows raised. “I mean,” Aleck shrugged, glancing away. “He asked if I could be discreet about it and, uh, not mention it to anyone. Y’know how it is.”

“Right,” Jacob said, not knowing how it was. “Well, that’s all I needed to know. Thanks, Aleck.”

He hurried out as fast as he could, not sticking around for Aleck to capture him in some useless conversation. He met Evie and Isaac at Wynert’s offices by the Thames, finding Isaac already sorting through Evie’s notes.

“These look good,” Isaac told her, glancing up and giving Jacob a nod. “Thank you for this, Miss Frye. Jacob, do you have anything for me?”

Jacob nodded. “Just came from Bell; he says Wynert commissioned him for something a year or so ago, but he hasn’t seen him since, so _he’s_ no help.”

“And Roth?”

Jacob shook his head. “No luck there, either.”

Isaac sighed. “Alright. Miss Frye, thank you for these notes. If you could inspect a café called _La Particularité_ , I’d be delighted. He passes there on his way to and from here.”

“I know where it is. I’ll be back soon.”

“Good. Jacob, if I could see you for a moment?”

“Sure,” Jacob said. He ignored the look Evie gave him as she sauntered out, closing the door behind her. As soon as she was gone, Jacob said, “Something wrong, Isaac?”

Isaac stood, gathering up the notes Evie had given him, placed them in a stack, and said, “Look. I have to know: did you _ask_ Roth if he had Ned and take his answer at face value, or did you actually search the Alhambra?”

Jacob stiffened, narrowing his eyes at Isaac. “What sort of a question is that?”

“Cut the bullshit, Frye, and give me a straight answer. Did you or did you not search the Alhambra.”

“Don’t see why it makes a difference,” Jacob said. Isaac made a noise of frustration.

 _“Az got hot geteylt dem seykhl bistu gesholfn,”_ he muttered before turning back to Jacob. “You’re a damn fool! Roth and Ned have been enemies for a while now; if anyone knows where he is, it’s that bastard. Now, I need you to go back there and actually _search_ the place for Ned. Why would you even trust that madman’s word? He’s the _leader of the Blighters_! I would think you of all people won’t take the word of-”

Isaac stopped midsentence and stared at Jacob, blinking and frowning. “I- Oh. _Shit_. It’s _him_ , isn’t it? It’s Roth.”

Jacob frowned. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“That’s the Blighter you’re fucking. It’s Roth.” And with those simple words, Jacob’s entire core went cold.

“What?” He said.

“Don’t play stupid, Jacob. Ned told me everything a few days ago. Fucking- I _knew_ this would have consequences!”

Jacob had gone pale. “He had no right. He had no _right_ to tell you!”

“Oh, come off it, Jacob, he’s worried about you and needed someone to tell him he didn’t need to get involved!” Isaac glowered. “He _didn’t_ need to get involved. And now, Roth’s found out, I’m _sure_ of it.” He pointed at Jacob. “If he’s hurt, it’s on _you_. Because _you_ involved him. _You_ went to his apartment that day, Frye. Don’t tell me I don’t have a right to know; be thankful I haven’t told your sister.”

Jacob wanted to protest. His hands were curled into fists, but Isaac had sat down again and looked up at him. “Alright. Say for argument’s sake Roth _doesn’t_ have Ned. The Blighters may still have him under Starrick’s orders and have him in the Alhambra. It’s the base for _all_ Blighters after all, not just Roth. Just… Next time you’re over there, take a look.

“If you don’t, I’ll send your sister. Because I’m not taking chances, and I don’t care if she kills Roth or not. The choice is yours. Go back and look and report back to me _tonight_ , or I’m sending your sister. That’s a promise.”

Jacob was absolutely _shaking_ with unbridled anger. “ _Fine_ ,” he snapped. “I’ll look through the Alhambra.” He stormed out.

He was halfway to the Strand before realizing Roth wouldn’t be able to see him until the evening. Well. Isaac hadn’t mentioned a time, had he? And it wasn’t like he had to stay away, right?

While he weighted his options, he heard someone call his name. He turned and saw a small group of people walking towards him, dressed in head to toe in green. He smiled when he saw who it was. “Annalee, Dominic, and Totty _and_ Smothy! What’re you lot doing around here?”

“Not much, Boss.” Totty shrugged, her arm looped around Smoth’s. “Came out for a walk, these nitwits joined us for a conversation, and now we’ve bumped into you! We were heading to the pub, care to join?”

“Actually, I’ve got a… thing.”

“Ah, c’mon, Frye!” Dominic put an arm around Jacob’s shoulders, shaking him a little. “Let us buy you a drink.”

Jacob raised his eyebrows. “Well, if _you’re_ buying, then how can I refuse?”

Dominic laughed and shook Jacob again. “There’s the Jacob we know and love!”

Annalee hung back a bit as they carried on, hands deep in her pockets until Jacob said, “Oi, Annalee, how’re you lately?”

She shrugged a shoulder. “Not bad. Not great, but y’know how it is.”

It was true, Jacob thought. She looked thinner than before, her face drawn and tired. It was concerning, Jacob thought, and he put an arm around her, squeezing her. “Sorry to hear that.” She offered him a little smile.

When they reached the pub, she ordered her drink in a soft voice and retreated to a corner by herself, looking into her glass with a faraway look. Jacob sat at the bar, watching her out of the corner of his eye before he leaned over to Smoth. “What’s wrong with her, then?” He asked quietly. Smoth glanced over, then sighed, taking a swig of his beer.

“The explosion, Frye. She’s not been the same, I’ll tell ye’ that. I dunno if gang life was really meant for her. Totty an’ I’ve taken her in to try and get her back on her feet. I dunno. We keep trying to get her to leave the Rooks, but she says she’s committed to it now.”

Jacob frowned. “She can leave whenever she likes,” he says. “We’re not evil, we don’t force people to stay with us.”

“Well _I_ know that, don’t I? Like I say, she’s committed to it.” Smoth shrugged and swigged his bear again. Jacob took his drink and went to sit with Annalee in the corner. She startled when he sat, blinking up at him.

“Hullo,” he said, setting his beer down and leaning back in his chair. “How’s that, then?” He nodded at her drink. “A proper Rook drink, I suspect.”

“Mm. ‘S good, I guess.” She sipped at it. “A little bitter.” She offered the glass out to him and Jacob accepted it, peering into the glass. It was green in color, but clear. He sipped at it and handed it back to her. It was sort of sweet and bitter.

“Not for me, I think,” he said. She accepted the glass back.

“Not for everyone, I suppose.” She sipped more. Jacob watched her for a few moments, getting the taste out of his mouth with more beer.

“Annalee,” he said after a moment. “You know no one’ll give you any grief if you decide to leave the Rooks, right? Least of all me an’ Evie. It’s not for everyone.” Her eyes snapped up to his, wide and her face hurt. “Not that I don’t think you’re great!” He added hastily. “I just think- Shit, I’m not the best at talking…” He rubbed at his face. “Look, you’re great, and the Rooks are luckier to have you. But, if you decide you don’t want to do it, don’t pressure yourself, alright? And if anyone else pressures you, come to me and I’ll set ‘em straight, alright?”

“You…” Annalee swallowed. “You don’t think I’m good enough?”

“No! Not at all!” Jacob shook his head frantically. “Like I said, you’re great! I just heard you were having a hard time. Look, I know you’re committed. I _know_. I’m just saying, don’t force yourself, and don’t be afraid to get help, alright?”

Annalee’s shoulders slumped. “Alright,” she said. “Thanks, Jacob.”

“You’re welcome!” He said, smiling. “Can I get you another drink? Don’t tell Dominic.”

She smiled a little bit and shrugged. “Alright then. One more.”

“Great! What’re you drinking?”

“A glass of absinthe. Thank you.”

“Alright! One absinthe, coming up!” Jacob grabbed her glass, grabbed his beer, and went back to the bar, feeling for the first time in a while that he had done something right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a quick warning, the next chapter is one of the most disturbing in this fic. Another warning will be issued at the beginning, too.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings my most marvelous readers! It is I, your wonderful host, AlwaysAmused, returned to you at last! I am healthy and back home, safe and sound.
> 
> Daughter has described it as "the most disturbing chapter" of this fic, so keep that in mind. It involves Jacob's twisted thought process as a result of Ruth's manipulation, as well as physical and emotional abuse.

It was nice, Jacob thought, catching up with friends. Annalee had cheered up a little bit, and Jacob had invited the rest of the group to come sit with here in the corner. They shared stories for a while, and Jacob had smiled and laughed. He hadn’t gotten drunk, he was sure, but by the time he left them to head to the Strand, he was pleasantly warm and tingly.

His smile dimmed the further away from the Rooks he got, his mind settling on what his next task was to be. He had to look for Wynert, he had said he would. It was, he thought, rather stupid. Why _would_ Roth have taken Wynert? The two didn’t get along, but that was no reason to justify _kidnapping_ , surely.

No, this was stupid. He had asked Roth and had given him his trust. What did Isaac know about him and Roth? Truly, he shouldn’t have known anything. The thought made Jacob feel hot, his jaw clenching. Nothing, that was what the man knew. Isaac knew _nothing_ about Roth and neither did Wynert.

If anything, Jacob knew Roth the best. Yes, the man could be reckless at times, but his chaos was so organized. He knew what he was doing, indeed, he was _helping_ Jacob. Wasn’t he? And in return, didn’t _Roth_ know him better than anyone?

The thought gave Jacob a pause. Yes, he thought, slowing on the streets. Yes, Roth _did_ know him better than anyone know. Even better than Evie did, and Jacob had told him everything he had out of his own free will, because he _trusted_ Roth.

…And, with a jolt, he realized Roth trusted _him_. Not Evie, perhaps not even _Lewis_. _Him_. Roth trusted him enough to tell him secrets about himself and his past. Not even Evie trusted him now, she had made _that_ more than clear in the past few months. No, Evie thought he was an idiot, a fuck-up unable to do _anything_ without being constantly monitored. But Roth trusted him, and he trusted Roth.

Was he about to break that trust? The thought made Jacob’s insides squirm uncomfortably. To betray Roth’s trust… The man would be more than disappointed, he would be _furious_. Hadn’t Roth told him he’d been betrayed before? This, even just looking around the Alhambra, seemed enough like betrayal.

Jacob hadn’t realized he had reached the Alhambra until Lewis had answered the door, his face impeccably without expression. “Ah. Good evening sir.”

“Lewis, can you think of any good reason why he would have Ned Wynert in his basement?”

Lewis stared at him and blinked slowly, face unchanged. “That,” he replied, “is a question for Mr. Roth. Do come in, Sir. I will inform him of your arrival.”

Jacob nodded and moved upstairs, pacing the room as his insides twisted. Jacob had always naturally been a pacer; it was only with training that his father had got him to cut it out. Evie, ever the golden child, had always stood perfectly still except for her hands; she fiddled her fingers endlessly, drumming them on any surface, or just fidgeting.

He thought he’d stomped the urge to pace out of him, but instead he continued to wander around Roth’s bedroom, his insides gnawing at him. He hardly noticed when Roth finally came in, pausing in the doorway to observe him for a moment. “Jacob, would you like a drink?”

“Tea. Thanks.” Jacob had been drinking all day. Roth nodded and shouted behind him.

“Lewis! Tea, if you would, for my guest and myself. A thousand thanks!” He turned his attentions back to Jacob, closing the door behind him and moving to the counter, pouring glasses of amber liquid. “Drink this, darling, you look far too tense. And sit down, you’ll pace a path in the floor.”

Jacob sat and took the drink. He considered it for a moment before downing it, regretting it when it burned down his throat. He nearly coughed it back up again, but then he was looking at his empty glass. Roth sipped at his own, raising his eyebrows at Jacob.

“Something the matter?” He asked. Jacob sighed, leaning back in his chair, leg bouncing.

“You _don’t_ have Ned Wynert, do you?” He asked, looking away from Roth. Roth laughed a little.

“Darling, you’ve been drinking, haven’t you? Never mind that. We’ve had this conversation, I believe. Why would I?”

Jacob didn’t know. His mind felt fuzzy and his insides were all twisted and heavy. He swallowed and nodded, not trusting himself to speak. How many drinks had he had that day? He couldn’t remember. He didn’t even notice that Roth had gotten up until the man was right behind him, hands rubbing at his shoulders. “Relax, darling,” he said. “Lewis will be up with the tea in a moment. You’re very tense.”

Jacob hummed, Isaac’s words coming back to him. _Was_ he just going to take Roth’s word? To say he believed Roth only to turn around and search the theater anyway… It felt like lying. It felt like _betrayal_. Jacob swallowed nervously, and Roth put a hand in his hair, smoothing it back. “What’s wrong, my dear?” He asked. “Is there something you need to tell me?”

“No,” Jacob said. And that was it. That was all there was too it; he couldn’t search the Alhambra. He didn’t _need_ to search the Alhambra. Isaac was wrong, it was as simple as that. That he had even _considered_ lying to or betraying Roth seemed like blasphemy.

Lewis brought the tea in short order and Roth served Jacob a cup. It was nice; some sort of herbal infusion that was nice, and took away a bit of Jacob’s edge. Roth continued at his shoulders, massaging the muscles. “What you need,” he said, “is a bath. There’s nothing like a nice bath to help soothe the body and mind, hmm?”

Jacob found himself nodding and Roth left him for a moment. He returned, smiling, “Leila will come when the bath is done. Until then, shall we have a little fun?”

“Sure.” Jacob got up and took his coat off, draping it over his chair before watching Roth. He hadn’t betrayed Roth, hadn’t lied to him. But he had come close, _so close_. Jacob moved to Roth and pulled him into a kiss, catching the man off-guard. A difficult thing to do, but Roth rolled with it, smiling and laughing into Jacob’s lips. “My, my,” he said when Jacob pulled back. “Affectionate, are we?”

Jacob ignored his words and got on his knees, undoing Roth’s belt and the buttons on his trousers, grasping Roth’s hips. Roth pet his hair as he took Roth’s cock into the mouth, licking and sucking, desperate to make it up to his lover, to relieve some of his guilt. It was sloppy, but if the fingers tightening in Jacob’s hair and the soft moans and sighs meant anything, Roth was enjoying himself. When Roth came, Jacob swallowed every bit of him before releasing his grip on Roth, who smiled down at him fondly.

“Not that I didn’t enjoy that,” he said, tucking away his cock back into his trousers. “But why the sudden attention, hmm?”

Jacob swallowed again, the taste of Roth still bitter in his mouth. “I- I’m sorry,” he blurted out. Roth raised his eyebrows and placed two fingers under Jacob’s chin, forcing his head up.

“For what, my boy?” Jacob only shook his head and Roth stroked his hair. “Have you done something regrettable?” Again, Jacob shook his head, eyes, looking past him.

“I- I thought about it,” he confessed. Roth hummed.

“And _did_ you?” His fingers were still under Jacob’s chin, but Jacob still refused to meet his eyes

“No. No, Maxwell.”

“Good boy.” There was warmth in Roth’s praise, warmth that only served to make Jacob feel more terrible. How could he have even considered betraying this man? Roth released Jacob’s chin and his head lowered to the floor, looking at Roth’s feet. He didn’t stand from his kneeled position.

Never had Jacob felt so guilty, not when his father was reprimanding him, not since he was a young boy. But then, when was the last time his father had shown him any sort of affection, had offered his trust? Now here was Roth, perfectly willing to place his trust in him, and he had nearly fucked it up, just as he had fucked up everything else in his life.

“Jacob, darling?” Roth’s voice pulled him from his thoughts. “What do you need?”

What _did_ he need? Jacob wet his lips and sat back on his heels, hands resting clenched on his knees. “I…” He took a deep breath before mumbling, “Punish me.”

“What was that?”

Jacob steeled himself, taking a deep breath. “Punish me,” he repeated, louder this time. Roth smoothed a hand over his head.

“Are you sure, Jacob?” A single nod was Jacob’s reply, and the fingers in his hair tightened their hold. “As you wish, then. But _do_ remember, darling: you _asked_ for this.”

Roth backhanded him so hard and so suddenly that Jacob was sent sprawling to the floor. He looked up at Roth with wide eyes and the man looked down at him, his face cold. “Undress. Now. Then get back to your knees.”

Jacob scrambled to comply as quickly as he could as Roth stepped away. Once he was naked, Jacob fell back to his knees, waiting. Roth returned and tossed something on the bed. “I’m going to blindfold you, Jacob,” he said, his voice toneless, before he tired a thick black slip of cloth over his eyes. “Now I’m going to bind your wrists. Show them to me.”

He put his wrists together and raised them, and Roth tied them together, so tightly it hurt. He then tugged on them. “Stand.” Jacob did, and he was moved to the bed, clumsily lying on it, his hands in front of him. “I’m going to whip you, Jacob,” Roth said when he was lying down. “But first, I must know; how terrible was your offence? On a scale of one to ten; one being you dropped something, ten being you defied a direct order.”

Jacob swallowed. “Nine,” he croaked. There was no reply, but a moment later there was a _whoosh_ , and then the sting as the whip landed hard on his back. It as not what Jacob was expecting; the flogger had multiple ends, and the air was pushed out of him from the intensity of the pain. Roth didn’t give him time to breathe; the next hits landed with no rest over his back and rear and thighs. Jacob didn’t remain silent for nearly long enough, burying his face into the blankets and pillows to cry out. He remained as still as he could, but pressed himself into the mattress as if that would get him away from the sting of the whip. He wanted this to stop, he didn’t like this, but then that was the point of a punishment; if you liked it, it wasn’t a punishment. Wasn’t that what his father used to say?

The flogging seemed to go on forever until there was a knock at the door. The hits stopped, and Jacob sucked in air, breathing hard as his skin burned and stung. He could hear soft voices somewhere, but he ignored them. A hand rested on his hot skin, making him jump and gasp, and Roth soothed, “Shh, darling. It’s only me. You did very well.”

He unbound Jacob's hands and pulled his head into his lap. Jacob curled up, crying openly as Roth moved a hand over his back. Everything burned, and it was everything he knew he deserved. He cried until he was left, tearless and shaking, fingers grasping at Roth’s clothes. Roth finally undid the blindfold and used it to dab at Jacob’s eyes. “There now, darling. Leila has told me the bath is ready. Shall we?”

The thought of hot water on his already searing back filled Jacob with dread, but he nodded anyway. Roth pressed a kiss to his temple, wrapping his arms around him for a moment before helping Jacob to his feet. He wasn’t proud to admit he was shaking so badly, he stumbled a few times as Roth led him to the bathroom, a hand firmly on his elbow. Roth helped him into the bath and, as Jacob predicted, his back and everything the whip had touched cried out in protest, causing his breath to hitch once more.

“There we are, now,” Roth murmured, taking off his jacket and shirt. He picked up the soap. It hurt to be washed, but Jacob didn’t resist, following Roth’s simple commands of “lift your arm, tilt your head back, close your eyes,” as every inch of him was washed. He was too tired to argue, too tired to protest and wash himself, even if he felt humiliatingly like a child. Roth didn’t seem to mind, though.

When the washing was finished, Roth helped him out of the bath and patted him dry with a towel before leading him back to the bedroom. He took the tea—now cold—and gave Jacob a cup, urging him to drink it. Jacob did, then another cup because Roth told him too. He then laid down on the bed, Roth tucking the blankets over him before undressing himself. He drew the curtains and blew out the lights before joining Jacob in the bed, pulling him into his arms. It was comforting, Jacob thought, even as he whispered meaningless apologies.

“Hush, my darling,” Roth murmured. “Just sleep. All is forgiven.”

So Jacob did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so the next chapter IS going to be pretty heavy. It will be from our least favorite character's POV. No, it is not Pearl Attaway. ;) Yes, I am that petty. Because if THAT person is still reading this out of spite, you need to find a life. Thanks!!
> 
> Goodnight, and thanks for all the kudos and comments!


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys. So, this is not the original chapter 20 I wrote. I posted it here, and the backlash/harassment we both received was so great that I pulled it down. It was from Roth's POV about what he's been doing to Ned. I thought it faintly important to the plot to mention that in that chapter, Ned bit Roth's hand. The trauma Ned goes through will appear in Curtain Call as he deals with what happened.
> 
> This fic is _violent_. I've mentioned this several times. I am perfectly willing to sit down and have a civil, courteous conversation with anyone who has issues with this fic, but I like to think it's reasonable that I don't waste my time on harassment. It is deemed childish nonsense and will be reported.
> 
> No warnings for this chapter.

As the week carried on, Jacob’s interest in the Wynert disappearance dwindled. No one had found him; it was like the man had fallen off the face of the earth. Isaac was still looking around for him, but Jacob hadn’t seen him in some time, instead doing various other things.

Evie, surprisingly enough, had also stopped searching. “It’s regrettable,” she said, “but our top priority is the Piece of Eden, _not_ Mr. Wynert. If he still hasn’t been found by the time we find it, then we’ll come back to it. Until then, we simply _cannot_ waste any more time.”

Greenie, it seemed, was the only one still firmly on the case when he wasn’t analyzing things for Evie. Knowing him, Jacob thought, it was less because he was bored and more because he actually gave a damn about what happened to Wynert. Jacob cared as well, but there was nothing more he could do about it. He had other things to worry about; Nigel was still forced to spend all of his time on the train, and Jacob had been taking out anyone who threatened him.

Jacob had spent time recruiting more Rooks, taking out more Templars and collecting more of London’s boroughs for his own. The Rooks were stronger than ever now, more joining every day. Jacob was starting to lose track of names now, which delighted him to a certain extent. It was on Greenie’s suggestion that he’d started keeping a list in a little book. This amused Roth to no end, who, after one evening, had fished the little book out of Jacob’s pockets and was flipping through it.

“They’re only soldiers, you know,” he said, glancing over the pages. “Oh, I recognize that name.” He snorted. “You’ve started taking in a few rouge Blighters, my dear. You might be careful about spies.”

“What?” Jacob peered at the book to see which names Roth had been looking at. “Oh, that’s just Richie, he’s a good bloke.”

Roth hummed and continued flipping through. “You,” he said, “are _far_ too trusting. On the one hand, I’m glad it caused us to form this relationship. But on the other hand, you might want to watch who you bring into your gang.” He tossed the book aside and Jacob hummed, closing his eyes.

“Hasn’t troubled me yet,” he said. Roth sighed and carded his hair through his fingers.

“I’m not surprised,” he said. “Who am I kidding? You’re perfectly capable of taking care of yourself, but even the bravest man in London doesn’t have eyes on the back of his head.” He tugged the hair on the back of Jacob’s head to make his point. Jacob grunted, but there was a tangle of warmth that spread in his chest at the remark.

“I’ve got eyes,” he said. “Almost as much as you, now.”

“Mm. Not quite, darling,” Roth replied, trailing his hand down Jacob’s back. Jacob arched slightly, wincing a little. His back had gotten better over the past week, but it was still sore. It was honestly a miracle that no one had noticed his discomfort as the marks and bruises healed.

It was morning, but neither man had gotten up yet, sunlight filtering through the curtains and occasionally hitting Jacob directly in the eyes when he wasn’t paying attention. Roth’s fingers traced over Jacob’s tattoos and he hummed to himself.

“What’s that, then?” Jacob asked. “That tune?”

“Hmm? Oh, it’s nothing yet,” Roth replied. “Like it? I’m still trying to figure out lyrics for it, figuring out if it ought to be a duet. I don’t think it’s good enough for a production. I might spread the sheets around to various people to play, though; music travels somewhat quickly in bars, depending on how popular.” He smiled at Jacob. “Wouldn’t that be a treat, darling? Hearing a song of mine on the lips of the people, immortalized in music forever?”

Jacob smiled in return. “That _would_ be nice. But what if people forget who wrote it?”

Roth waved a hand lazily. “That hardly matters now; people will always forget an artist, but the goal of an artist is less to be remembered and more to have their creations live on.” He looked at Jacob. “Art comes from the very _soul_ , Jacob. A good artist will pour their soul into their work. When their work is remembered, it doesn’t matter _who_ created it, as long as it touches others.”

“Hmm.” Jacob shrugged and grinned. “Can’t say I’ve ever been a fan of art, myself.”

Roth huffed. “No taste.” Jacob snorted and threw an arm over his eyes. With a sigh, Roth sat up, stretching and letting his joints pop back into place before getting up and throwing the curtains open, ignoring Jacob’s indignant protests. “Darling, could you do something for me?” He asked, peering out the window, picking up his cigarettes.

“Depends, what is it?” Jacob asked, glancing over with squinted eyes.

“I need something delivered,” he said, picking up an envelope. “Would you be so kind as to bring this to Westminster? At the base of Big Ben will do. He ought to have something in return, please bring it back to me.” He smiled at Jacob, placing the envelope back down. “It _should_ have information about where to best strike Starrick next.”

Jacob smiled. “Great! I’ll get to it then.” He got up and dressed, snatching the envelope off the table and shoving it in his pocket before zipping out the window. It didn’t take very long to find the person he was looking for; it was a blighter standing and smoking. Jacob walked up and held out the envelop.

“From Mr. Roth,” he said. The Blighter glanced around before taking out his own envelop and handed it over to Jacob without a word. Jacob tipped his hat. “Pleasure doing business.”

He went back to the Alhambra, sneaking back in through the still-open window of Roth’s bedroom. Roth, however, was gone. Jacob moved downstairs, finding actors prepping for rehearsal. He stopped a man and asked, “Where’s Mr. Roth gone off to?”

The man shrugged. “I dunno, but he should be here in a few moments.”

That wouldn’t do. Roth would want the information as soon as possible, without people around; the theater was a front for the Blighter activity; he didn’t know how much the actors and producers knew. He went backstage and looked around, flicking on his Sight.

Red. That was the Blighters, below the stage, likely conducting their business.

Blue. Blue? That meant an ally. But the form below him wasn’t moving. The form was lying down, surrounded by Red.

Jacob glanced around, but unable to see Gold—Roth—he moved on to the downstairs, pulling his hood up. He saw two Blighters standing at attention; offing them wasn’t a difficult task. They were dead before they could cry out. He moved down into the cellar, finding three more Blighters beating up whoever his ally was. It wasn’t hard to kill them either, and soon it was just him and the other person, who was moaning weakly.

“Hey, it’s alright,” he said, bending. He rolled the person—wearing a tight corset and a skirt—over and his eyes widened.

Ned. Ned Wynert. He stared up at Jacob without truly seeing and Jacob swore. There were chains binding his wrists, and he helped Wynert sit up, picking the lock on the chains until they fell to the floor with a clatter. Ned was shaking, his eyes glassy and his breathing shallow. With a flick of his blade, Jacob cut the laces to the corset and pulled it away. He took off his coat, pulling it around Ned before scooping him up. The man was light and didn’t resist. He didn’t even seem very conscious.

As he left, he found Lewis by the entrance, kneeling next to the bodies. He raised his eyebrows and stood when he saw Jacob. “Shall I get Mr. Roth, Sir?”

“No,” Jacob snapped, but pulled the piece of paper Roth had sent him for out of his pocket. “But make sure he gets this. I’ll be back… I don’t know.”

He was wasting _time_. He left the theater and put Ned into the first empty carriage he found, getting into the driver’s seat and racing towards the hospital. He didn’t know where else to go. What was the name of that nurse Evie liked? The one who took care of Clara? It was Florence, wasn’t it? Florence Nutcracker, or something ridiculous like that.

The moment he arrived at the hospital, Jacob got off and picked up Ned from the back, hoping he hadn’t gotten too jostled around. The man was out of it now, only able to moan weakly. Jacob hushed him and cradled him against his chest, taking him inside. To the first person he saw, he said, “I need Florence, tell her it’s Jacob Frye.”

The nurse’s eyes widened when she saw Ned. “I am Florence Nightingale, what happened to her?”

“ _Him_ ,” Jacob snapped. “His name is Ned Wynert, he’s been held in a cellar for about three weeks, he needs help. Somewhere private,” he added. “He can pay for it later.”

“Yes of course, bring him with me.” She brought them to a private room, closing the door behind them. Wynert tried kicking at them, making weak noises of protest. Florence shushed him. “Does he have any family?” She asked.

Jacob’s mind went blank. “Um. No, I don’t think so. But! There’s someone who knows him better than I do, I’ll be right back!”

Isaac. He needed to tell Isaac. He left Wynert in Florence’s hands and got back into his stolen carriage, going to the offices as quickly as he could, barging into Isaac’s office. “I got him!”

Isaac turned, blinking. He was with someone, a client probably. “What?”

“Wynert, I’ve got him, he’s- I brought him to the hospital-.”

“Which hospital?” Isaac asked. To the client he said, “I’m sorry, I have to cut this short, please reschedule with the secretary.” He grabbed his coat and followed Jacob out.

“Lambeth,” he said. “Evie’s got a friend there, she’s looking after-”

“ _Oy vey ist mir_ , you brought him to _Lambeth_? And then left him there _alone_? What, are you _stupid_ or something?”

“He’s _hurt_ , Isaac,” Jacob snapped. “What did you want me to do? Where was I _supposed_ to take him?”

“ _Literally anywhere else_!” Isaac shouted as he took the reins. Jacob just had time to climb in the seat next to him before they were hurtling down the street back towards the hospital. They said nothing more to one another, Jacob leading the way to where he’d taken Wynert. Florence was still with him, and glanced over as they came in. Isaac ignored her and went to Wynert’s side.

“Hey, punk,” he murmured, sitting at the edge of the bed and sounding particularly American. “It’s alright. We’ll get you out of here soon, don’t you worry.”

He looked at Florence then. “Who’re you?” He asked.

“Florence Nightingale,” she said.

“I don’t want anyone knowing he’s here,” Isaac said, tilting his head to Ned. “You’ll be paid in full, but if anyone asks, no one’s here.”

“Very well, Sir,” Florence said. She finished her work and Isaac looked to Jacob, indicating him to come. Jacob walked over.

“Where did you find him?” He asked in a low voice. Jacob shrugged.

“Just… somewhere. I’m heading back tonight to investigate, I didn’t get a good look around; I just wanted to get him out of there.”

It didn’t feel good, lying about this. Isaac nodded. “Alright. Report back to me with what you find. I wanna know who’s blood I need to spill. Now _git_.”

Jacob nodded and left the hospital. He didn’t pick up the carriage again, instead walking the streets. He’d best go tell Evie that he’d found Wynert. At the Alhambra.

The place he was supposed to search _a week and a half ago_. But he hadn’t, he _hadn’t_ looked, and the only reason he’d found Wynert at all now was _sheer fucking chance_. By _chance_ he’d looked around trying to find Roth.

Maxwell Roth. Jacob stopped in the street, causing whoever was behind him to almost crash into him and cuss him out before moving on. Jacob hardly noticed. Roth, had Roth _known_ the whole time? He didn’t consider Wynert to be a man, didn’t _do_ anything about it. It was his theater after all, how could he _not_?

Anger coursed through him as he moved back towards the Strand. The trip passed in a blur, and he reached the Alhambra, searching Roth out. He was on the stage when he arrived and he snarled, “ _Roth_ ,” when he saw him. The man turned and raised his eyebrows at Jacob. “A word, if you please,” Jacob snarled.

“Of course, my dear. Shall we go to my office?” He led the way, Jacob stalking in behind him. As soon as the door was shut, Jacob turned on him.

“You said you didn’t know where Wynert was!”

Roth blinked at him. “Ah. You’re referring to what happened. Yes, I’m having Lewis look into it.” He began to pace. “Unfortunately, the cellar isn’t a place I _go_ very often.”

Jacob stopped short. “What do you mean?” He said. “Are you saying you had _no idea_ he was there?”

“That _is_ what I’m saying,” Roth replied, sitting behind his desk. “I’m offended you think I would _lie_ to you about such things. I’ve said before, haven’t I? The Alhambra is a base for _all_ Blighters. You found Wynert simply because you have the supernatural means to. I? My dear boy, I am _one man_ with plenty of other worries to focus on. I assure you, I had no idea he was there.”

“ _Someone_ did.”

“And as I’ve said, I’m looking into it.” Roth took out a cigarette and lit the end. “Now, instead of just charging into my theater and throwing accusations at my feet, why don’t we look at the facts? Wynert has attracted more than just my attentions, including those of a certain Crawford Starrick.” He reached into the pocket and drew out the envelope Jacob had gotten for him earlier. He smiled at Jacob. “Tomorrow, Jacob, we _strike_. One last hurrah against Mr. Starrick, what do you say?”

Jacob let the tension drain away from his body and nodded, shame overcoming him. “I’m sorry,” he told Roth. “I… I wasn’t thinking.”

“No, you were only worried about your friend.” Roth nodded in agreement. “It's understandable, I'll admit. But I've no time for this now,” he added abruptly. “I first must finish the rehearsals. Come back here… Mmm, tomorrow afternoon; I’ve got something _planned_.”

He took a few more drags on his cigarette before handing it to Jacob on his way out of the office. Jacob took a few inhales of it on his way out before dropping it on the road into a puddle. He buried his hands into his pockets and went towards the train, to tell his sister about Wynert, dreading the next day.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ned's POV, while he starts to recover at Lambeth. Featuring Isaac, Evie, and a little of Florence Nightingale. No warnings for this chapter.

Morphine was the worst thing in the world, Ned decided. It was good at making a person forget that pain existed, but it weighed down on the mind in large doses, and large doses was all he’d been getting from that bastard son of a whore, born where maggots probably crawled into his ears and ate the sane part of his brain.

It wasn’t dark, though, and that was something Ned could appreciate. Well, as much as he could appreciate anything, as he groaned awake, blinking warily around. He felt hands and immediately jerked, trying to get out of reach.

“Shh, hey, Ned. Ned, it’s okay. Calm down, punk, it’s me.”

 _Isaac?_ He _still_ didn’t have his glasses, but could make out a blond figure sitting above him, holding his hand. Isaac reached forward, but Ned pulled back, unable to do anything other than make vague distressed noises and _Goddammit, why won’t my mouth work?_ He thought.

“Hey, welcome back to the land of the living. You gave us a scare.” Isaac was smiling, maybe, it was hard to tell. Ned blinked at him.

“Isaac?” He mumbled instead.

“Yeah, it’s me. Evie Frye’s here, too. Not sure where the other one is.”

“On the train,” said another voice on the other side of him. Ned turned his head to see a black blob, whom he presumed was Evie. “Or, that was where I left him,” she added.

Ned turned back to Isaac. “Where’m I?” He said. Isaac sighed.

“You’re not going to like it.”

“Uhhm?”

“Just… Let’s just leave it at that for now. As soon as you’re really conscious and can move without hurting yourself, I’ll take you somewhere else. It’s fine, I’m here, you’re safe.”

Ned huffed. “M’not _scared_.”

“I know you ain’t, that’s not the point,” Isaac said. “Go back to sleep, punk.”

“No opiates,” Ned warned as he closed his eyes. “ _No_.”

“Alright, alright.” Isaac said something else, but Ned didn’t him clearly, and fell back to sleep.

When he woke up again, Isaac was stroking his hair. “I sent Evie to your apartment to get your spare glasses,” he said when Ned squinted up at him. “Hope you don’t mind.”

Ned shifted and hissed when his lower half hurt. His throat was dry, and he tried to swallow a couple of times before Isaac helped him sit up—everything was protesting from the pain, and Ned was displeased to say he winced and cried out a little—and brought a glass of water to his lips.

“Sips, Ned,” Isaac murmured. “Otherwise you’ll make yourself sick.”

“M’fine,” Ned muttered.

“You’re really _not_.”

Ned didn’t argue until he’d downed at least half of the water. “What’s the damage?” He asked. Isaac sighed and put the cup back on the bedside.

“You’ve got at least one broken rib, about all of them are bruised or cracked. You’ve got some damage down there.” He glanced down at Ned, who shifted uncomfortably. “And it’s pretty clear whoever had you starved you. There’s broth if you want it. Oh, and there’s chaffing around your wrists.”

“Food. Now.”

It was humiliating, having Isaac feed him like a child or an invalid, but he was shaking too badly to hold a spoon and too weak to hold the bowl to drink from it. He muttered this to Isaac whom—he could tell without glasses—had raised his eyebrows.

“Ned, no offence,” he said, “but you _are_ invalid right now. You’ve been missing for nearly a _month_.”

Ned choked. This didn’t have anything to do with what Isaac said, but he did choke, and he pitched forward to cough, Isaac rubbing his back gently. “Easy there, punk,” he murmured to Ned.

“I’m not a _kid_ ,” he snapped, eyes watering. “Who found me?”

“Jacob Frye,” Isaac replied, and Ned glowered.

“Did he kill that bastard yet, or is he still his bitch?”

Isaac frowned. “Who? What? We don’t know who had you yet-”

“ _Maxwell fucking Roth_ had me _chained up_ in his fucking _basement_ , and you’re telling me it was Jacob who found me? Not fucking surprising, but I wanna know if he _killed_ that son of a bastard-whore, or if he’s still Roth’s little _bitch_.”

Isaac was silent for quite some time. Ned swallowed. “Isaac?”

“That fucking- I’m gonna kill him.”

 _“Who_?”

“Jacob _fucking_ Frye.” Isaac put the bowl of broth back on the table. “He told me he searched the Alhambra for you a _week_ ago.”

 _Oh_. Ned said nothing. He looked down at his hands, fidgeting with the blankets. “Isaac, the soup, please,” he said, not sure what else to say. Isaac shook himself and took the bowl, continuing to feed Ned. He couldn’t eat much, but it was enough that he didn’t feel starving. He lied back down again before Evie returned, but he was so tired he had already closed his eyes.

“Evie, we’ve gotta talk about your brother,” he heard Isaac say in a low voice. “Remember how he was supposed to check out the Alhambra? He never did, not when I told him to. He found Ned yesterday because he finally decided it was worth it.”

Evie replied in some outraged way and Ned couldn’t help but feel smug, but he also sighed and mumbled, “If you two could go be pissed off somewhere I’m _not_ trying to sleep, that’d be _just fantastic_.”

The two muttered an apology that Ned grunted at before covering his head with the blankets. He could hear the two of them whisper-arguing in a corner, but ignored them until a sudden thought came to him. “Hey,” he called, pulling the blankets from his head. “Where are we, anyway?”

“Now, don’t get upset,” Isaac said, but unfortunately for everyone, Evie got there first.

“Lambeth hospital, why?”

Ned went paler than he was sure he already was. He scrambled on the bedside for his glasses and pushed them onto his face. “Nope,” he said, pulling the blankets back, wincing as he put his feet on the ground. “No, no. I’m not staying here. Isaac, help me up.”

“ _No_ -” Isaac rushed over and tired to get him to sit down. “I’ll take you out of here, but I want to be sure I can get you proper clothes before we do that. Ned- Punk, lay down before you hurt yourself.”

“I’m already hurt, what am I- Get _off_ , Isaac, I want to go _home_ -”

“Ned, it’s not safe to move you yet, and even if we brought you home, there’s a good chance- Fucking- _Ned_!”

Ned was shaking. He pulled Isaac close and hissed, “I don’t have to tell you what they do to people like _us_ here, Isaac, now help me get out of here before they find us.”

“Hey.” Isaac put his hands on Ned’s shoulders, holding him in the sitting position. “It’s okay. I’ve paid some people off. The lady lookin’ after you owes Evie a debt. As far as anyone’s concerned, there’s no one here, and they’re renovating this room. Now for the love of Christ, lay down.”

“He’s not even your prophet!” Ned argued, but didn’t protest when Isaac gently pushed him back down.

“That’s how you know I’m exasperated,” Isaac replied, pulling the blankets around him. “You _know_ I’m exasperated when I start using Jesus Christ as an example.” He glanced up at Evie, whose lips were pressed together. “Hey, it’s not blasphemy for me. Besides, we’re already criminals, one more thing isn’t going to exempt me if there’s a hell.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Evie said. Ned snorted, but was interrupted by a flash of pain in his side.

“The pain coming back?”

“No, I’m right as fucking rain.”

Evie head towards the door. “I’ll get Florence.”

“ _No_.” Ned would have flatly denied whining, but even to his own ears this sounded a bit childish. Isaac took his hand, rubbing his thumb against the back.

“Don’t worry, it’ll be just enough to take the edge off. And I’ll be here the whole time.”

Ned glared daggers at the nurse when she came in, but she didn’t seem to notice. She had a filled needle already and although Ned showed nothing in his face, he squeezed Isaac’s hand just a little harder when she gave him the morphine.

“Now,” she said. “I have a salve to help the healing process-”

“Don’t you fucking touch me,” Ned snarled, trying to sit up, but Isaac pushed him back down.

“Punk, I swear if you didn’t have broken ribs, I’d _sit_ on you. Stop getting up, you’ll dislocate something.”

Ned glared at him. “I don’t want _her_ poking around where the sun don’t shine. And I don’t want any salve or ointment or anything either.”

Isaac pinched his brow and leaned in, whispering in a low voice in Ned’s ear, “I can send both Florence and Evie away, but either way, you don’t want an infection.”

Ned grit his teeth. “Fine. Then I’ll do it myself.”

It didn’t take much convincing to get Florence and Evie to leave, and Isaac turned away. It was humiliating, Ned thought, but the soreness and pain _did_ go away when he used the salve. Not that he would ever admit it.

The thought about crying popped into his head when he noticed the lump in his throat that hadn’t gone away when he swallowed. “Isaac,” he said, trying to keep his voice even. “I don’t want to stay here.”

“One more night,” Isaac replied, sitting down next to him again. “One more night, then I’ll take you to my place, alright? I’ll send Evie to get some clothes for you.”

“ _No_ ,” Ned shook his head. “No, I want to go _now_. I-” He swallowed. If he went on, he was absolutely going to cry.

“It’ll be okay. We’ll get you out of here soon.”

Ned shook his head again and clung on when Isaac took his hand again. “I _hate_ this,” he whisper-hissed, burying his face into the pillow. “I _hate_ -”

“I know. Go to sleep, I’ll keep watch.”

“He knew my _name_.”

Isaac paused. “What?”

“ _John_ , Isaac. He knew my name and he told Roth, he knew my _name_ , and- and that’s all he called me, and- and- he paid John, said he went to _France_ -”

“Shh, hey, I’ve got you. I’ll take care of it, I promise.” Isaac stroked his hair and Ned took a few deep breaths. He didn’t want to sleep, not in Roth’s basement, not in _fucking Lambeth_. He wanted to go home, to his bed, or at least somewhere he could trust. Isaac stroked his hair back, humming a little, and Ned didn’t cry. If anyone had asked, Ned absolutely, positively, did not cry.

But no one asked, and it was just him and Isaac, and no one else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who left kudos!


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings for this chapter. The next will include our canon-deaths only tag.

Maxwell spent the night planning and scheming. Everything was playing out beautifully, just as he had wanted it to. Jacob would come the next afternoon, and together they would put on a spectacular show of Starrick’s workshop. There were children who worked inside the shop, but if all went well, Jacob wouldn’t find out about that until it was too late.

But if Jacob _did_ see… The young man was already given his will to him, to bend and use as he wished. It was the last lesson he needed to imprint on Jacob; to be truly free, one had to use reason to get what they wanted, and to do whatever they wanted, no matter how high the cost.

So a few children would burn and die. If they didn’t die in the workshop, they would die on the streets, if not as children, then as miserable adults. He was only shortening their sufferings, truly. There were greater goods to achieve, like chaos and freedom. Values that, as far as Maxwell knew, the Assassins were based on. Their Creed claimed that innocents ought not be harmed, but they were hurt every day, killed every day. Was it not a mercy, ending their pain?

He hoped Jacob could see that. They were good partners; Jacob was young and capable and impressionable, while Roth had all the wit and experience. Together, they would truly free London, from Starrick, from everything. But if Jacob couldn’t see that, couldn’t _handle_ that… Well. May it never be said Maxwell Roth didn’t have a backup plan. And he was, if nothing else, a _master_ of improvisation.

Maxwell was bursting with energy and excitement, almost unable to contain himself. He wanted to wait outside for Jacob to appear, and to his absolute delight, when he opened the door, the boy was already there, surprised as Maxwell opened the door. Max smiled. “Ah! Jacob my dear. I’ve something to show you!” He beckoned Jacob to follow towards his carriage.

Jacob took up the reins, tilting his head and smirking, curiosity glittering in his eyes. “Where are we going?” He asked.

“One of Starrick’s workshops, where they build weapons for his army.” Maxwell instructed him to turn. “When the world is full of nasty things, we must tear those things apart. A man like Starrick builds a world around his own desires, and so we lose the ability to dream for ourselves. Therefore, we must-”

“-Strike,” Jacob interrupted. He sounded satisfied and Roth laughed, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“ _Precisely_ , no matter the cost! Every second of hesitation allows Starrick time to build.”

Jacob nodded in agreement, glancing at Maxwell to smile. It didn’t take them terribly long to reach their destination, and Maxwell jumped off the carriage, leading the way to the rooftops. All that needed to be done was to rig up the dynamite. He watched Jacob sprint around to get it set up, satisfied at the performance when Jacob came back, not having broken a sweat.

“All rigged up,” he said, smiling still. He looked just as excited as Maxwell.

 “Perfect!” Max grinned and turned away. “Let’s put our plan into action.” He moved to the side, looking down to the Blighters below. “Stand back!” He called. “Ready…”

“ _Wait_!”

Maxwell turned to see Jacob holding a hand out towards him, eyes fixed on the ground.

“Whatever for?” He replied, and Jacob turned to look at him, pointing towards the ground.

“There are _children_ in there!”

Maxwell stepped towards him. “Jacob my dear,” he said, shaking his head slightly. “Starrick uses child labor to manufacture goods! We must put an _end_ to his production line.”

“Not like this,” he argued and _damn him_ , Maxwell sneered.

“Why not? I can do whatever I damn well please!” he snarled. “Consider this a lesson, Jacob; soon, you will understand what it means to be free, as I am.” He turned back to his Blighters and shouted, “Light ‘em up, boys!”

“No!” Jacob rushed past him, his kukri in his hand, and leaped off the rooftop with the grace of a bird, landing on one of his men and slicing through his flesh. Maxwell clenched his hands into fists as Jacob turned to look back up at him.

 “What the _hell_ are you doing?” Maxwell shouted at him from above. Damn it all to hell and back, the boy was going to ruin this, and for _what_?

“We’re not playing _games_ anymore, Roth!” Jacob shouted in reply before running towards the workshop. Maxwell watched him go, anger searing through him.

“No,” he mused, mostly to himself. “We’re not.” He turned away from the scene, climbing down back to his carriage. _A shame_ , he thought, bitter disappointment settling in his stomach. What grand plans he’d had for the two of them, working to bring down Starrick _together_.

No, if he knew anything, anyone who incurred the wrath of Jacob Frye tended to die at his hands. A shame indeed, but he’d always entertained the thought that this might happen. As much as Jacob preached about freedom and wanting to be free… He couldn’t bring himself to this, could he? And if he didn’t see now… Well. Maxwell didn’t think he ever would.

He went back to the Alhambra, to the office where he kept the bird caged up, he reached his fingers through the bars to stroke his head before penning a letter to Jacob.

_My dearest Jacob,_

_Alas, it seems out adventures together have come to a close._

_Although our time together was brief, it’s left a lasting mark._

_I wish you well in all your future endeavors._

_Cordially,_

_Maxwell_

Max paused there for a moment. Lovely, to the point. There was no need to sweeten his words, not now that everything was ending. Now, for the tricky part. To keep out an Assassin was likely going to be an impossible feat; it was better to invite the Assassin in and expect him than to wonder when he was to die. He might even then have a chance to kill him. Maxwell smiled and put his pen to paper again.

_Post scripture_

_I’m putting on a show this evening. All of London will be there. Enclosed, please find your invitation._

Maxwell positively cackled to himself as he set aside the note to let the ink dry as he opened the birdcage. He pulled the little black bird out, still smiling at it when he stroked it. Snapping his neck was no difficult thing, and he tossed it almost carelessly into a box. “Lewis!” He called. When the man appeared, he handed it to him, along with the note. “Make sure Mr. Frye receives this. And then…” He paused. “Put notices out. I want posters for _Corvus the Trickster_ out on the streets. When you’ve finished, take the night off, hmm?”

Lewis blinked, face the same as always. “Of course, Sir. Have a lovely evening.”

Roth laughed, throwing his head back. “I’m sure I will, Lewis,” he said fondly, standing and caressing the man’s face for only an instant. “I’m positively _certain_ I will.”

Lewis inclined his head before taking his leave. Roth watched him go and then sprang into action. He had another performance to put off, one that would now never happen, not that they knew it. He spoke with the stage manager; “I need to push back the opening night,” he said. “And there are to be no rehearsals tonight.”

The man tried to argue, how the actors would forget, how this and that and another thing. Maxwell rolled his eyes and waved to a Blighter standing off to the side. “Take care of this gentleman for me, won’t you?” he said. “And get the production team, I need a set built to be ready for _tonight_.”

The brute nodded and walked up behind the stage manager, twisting his neck around with a snap. He then picked up the body and made his way out. The afternoon was growing late, but Maxwell already had a design for the stage. He stepped out and looked around. Yes, the curtains were already flammable, they would do perfectly. The backdrop would be red, depictions of fire cut out of wood would be affixed to the stage.

He had things lying around the theater, he could make this work in little time. A stuffed bird was tied to a rope attached to the rafters for decoration.

By the time night was falling, Maxwell had nearly finished. Refreshments for guests had been brought, he had his men patrolling the theater inside and out for his little guest. Jacob was every bit dramatic as himself; there was no way he would miss this chance. But if he did, well, Maxwell was very good at slipping into the shadows. He had changed his name countless times before, it would be little trouble to do so again.

The theater was filling, and the usual thrill of right-before a performance filled him.

He couldn’t wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who left kudos!


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains that death tag that we've been warning about. There's a lot of placed blame here too, not all of it justified given the circumstances. Tempers and emotions are running high, and people always want a scapegoat. In other news, only two more chapters to go!

Jacob was wrong. He’d been _wrong_ , and now he was going to pay for it, possibly with his life.

He stumbled back to the train, placing the box with the bird and the letter from Roth on a table. With any luck, he wouldn’t run into her. Fortunately enough, she didn’t seem to be on the train, giving him time to sharpen his hidden blade and kukri. He got the feeling he would need it.

His mind was still reeling. He didn’t care, _Roth_ hadn’t cared, had known full-well that there were children working in that workshop, and he hadn’t given a _damn_ about any of them. _Why_? What was it all for? Jacob pulled his hidden blade back in, set the sharpening stone aside and paced the train for a while.

It would be hours yet until darkness fell. A glance out the window of the train told him he was in Lambeth. With a sigh, he hopped off the train; he might as well go see how Wynert was doing. He trudged to the hospital, making his way inside with little trouble.

Two people turned when he entered Wynert's room. Isaac stood, pulling a knife from seemingly nowhere, Evie starting forward with her cane until she saw who it was, halfway pulling her sword out of its cane. When she saw who it was, she put the sword away, and Jacob could tell she was absolutely  _seething_. 

“Evie,” Jacob started.

“You absolute incorrigible  _ignoramus_!”

Jacob blinked, raising his hands and wondering for a split-second if she was going to attack him. “Nice to see you too, sister dearest,” he said cautiously. “Will someone _please_ explain why it looks like I'm about to be your next assassination?”

Isaac was still standing, hand on a gun while the other still held his knife. “Miss Frye,” he said. “I think it best if you leave us alone for a moment.”

Evie glared at Jacob. “Come back to the train tomorrow morning. I don’t care what you do in the meantime, just _be there_.”

She then stalked past him and out of the room, leaving him alone against Isaac. Isaac didn’t move his eyes from Jacob, narrowing them as soon as the door was shut. “You lied to me,” he said flatly. “You _lied_ to me, Jacob Frye. You said you searched the Alhambra, you _told_ me that Roth didn’t have him, and you lied to my face about it. We could have had Ned back a _week_ ago if you had just done what you said you would.”

“I-” Jacob took a step back.

“What? Are you going to tell me you didn’t _know_ Roth had him? Have you really been so _blinded_ by that man? We _both_ warned you that he’s a sadistic maniac.”

“I’m _sorry_!”

“You’re sorry?” Wynert’s voice was quiet, but he’d sat up and pushed his glasses on. He was pale, and thin, and he glared from behind Isaac. “I don’t want to hear it. I was locked in that lunatic’s _basement_ for almost a month, and you wanna know what he told me? He wrapped you around his finger, and you fucking _let_ him! That Rook warehouse that exploded? Him. All him. He’s been playing you for a _God damned fool_.” Wynert gripped at the blankets. “I don’t want your apologies or your remorse, not until you’ve killed that bastard once and for all. Get out.”

“Wynert…” Jacob tried to appeal, but Ned picked up a book from the bedside table and flung it at him.

“Get _out_!” The book didn’t land anywhere near him, but Jacob took the hint and went towards the window, climbing out. It was better than facing Evie again, and hearing her quote their father again. He didn’t think he’d be able to bear that without lashing out at her, so instead he wandered through the streets, shock still flowing through him freely. The warehouse, the explosion… It hadn’t been his fault after all, had it? It was Roth.

It was _all Roth_.

He felt so stupid, so blind, and his shock gave way to anger that rippled through him. Jacob tightened his grip on it and held onto it. The anger left a bitter taste in his mouth; Jacob had never been good at controlling his emotions, often unable to stop them from “getting in his way,” as his father always put it. Instead, he pushed to redirect his feelings, using them to help him, not that Evie had ever understood that.

Jacob didn’t drink, but wandered the rooftops until night fell. He went to the Alhambra and sat, looking for an entrance. When he found one, he went to the ground, and entered the theater practically unnoticed. In the lobby he heard Roth’s voice, loud and clear.

“Madame and monsieur, ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the Alhambra music hall! Tonight, we have, for one night only, a very special performance of _Corvus the Trickster_! While some of the effects may be visceral and highly disturbing, do not be alarmed, my good people. Fear not! This is purist form of entertainment! Tonight’s performance immortalizes and is for the benefit of a young fellow very near and dear to my heart. Any concerns or complaints may be addressed to _him_!”

Roth laughed, and Jacob’s heart sank, fear making it hard to focus. What was Roth planning? He moved to the side, hoping to catch a glimpse of the stage as he went. He stopped and hid when Roth spoke again, “Jacob, dear boy; tonight is for _you_!”

* * *

When Jacob was young, he could remember their father trying to teach them how to meditate; their earliest training in self-control.

“Close your eyes and take a deep breath. Hold it. Clear your mind out on the exhale.”

“How?” Jacob asked as Evie did as she was told, his own eyes popping open to gaze questioningly at Ethan. He was slouching and ripping up grass in his hands because he was _bored_ , and their father came up and nudged him back up into a reluctant posture.

“Stop thinking about everything at once,” Ethan said. “Or, recognize that the thoughts you’re having are unhelpful and insignificant. Focus instead on your breath. Try again.”

Jacob frowned but closed his eyes. In. Out. In. Out. _This is boring_ , he thought. In. Out. In- _I’m hungry_. It didn’t take long for his mind to wander off.

“Jacob.” His father sounded irritated now.

“Yeah?”

“Stop letting your mind wander. Sit up.”

He’d slouched again without realizing. With a sigh, he sat back up. “This is _boring_ ,” he complained. “And I’m hungry. Can I get a snack?”

Ethan sighed. “Not until were done, Jacob. Try again and _focus_. Don’t let your mind wander so easily; instead, focus on your body. How you feel, what your body is doing. Recognize what it is doing, but make no change to fix it. Noises may go by, and you may have thoughts. Remember that you shouldn’t be focusing on these thoughts and come back to focusing on yourself.”

“Mhmm.” Jacob tried again. It was warm, the grass underneath him was soft and every so often a breeze passed. He had an itch on his bum and shifted uncomfortably, frowning and trying to ease it.

“ _Jacob_.”

“Sorry,” he mumbled. _Body. Focus,_ he thought. But the more he focused on himself, the more uncomfortable he got. He did, however, notice when he started slouching. He opened an eye, immediately closing it when he saw his father’s disapproving face. Fortunately, Ethan said nothing until they were done.

“Alright, we’re finished. Jacob, you may get a snack now.”

“Thank you!” He immediately ran off towards the house.

* * *

Jacob had never gotten the hang of meditation, not really, not like his father had intended. Instead of clearing his mind, he had trained himself to fully control his posture and every move he made. It had even given him some patience, something every Assassin, regardless of skill, was required to have. It wasn't a lot of patience, but it was enough that he eventually found the opportunity to poison the wine, killing the impostures Roth had put in his place around the theater. With every performance Roth put on the stage, with every innocent person he killed, Jacob forced his anger down, directing it to his blade. He moved, ghostlike through the theater, unseen by his enemies.

He was right above Roth when the man took off his golden mask, finally presenting himself to the world, lifting a glass to the audience. “I hope you have enjoyed your evening so far, ladies and gentlemen.” He said, pacing below Jacob. “I _know_ I have. Now before our final act, I would like to toast all you brave people who joined us tonight to celebrate life…” He paused and looked around before adding, “and _death_!”

Roth turned to the Blighters standing on either side of him holding torches, and Jacob realized what they were going to do moments before Roth said, “Go on! _Toast_ ‘em!” He laughed as they set the stage ablaze and Jacob could hear people beginning to scream.

“Your move, Jacob my _dear_!” He laughed and screamed at the audience, “Burn! Burn! _Burn_!”

Jacob jumped, as he had so many times before, hidden blade extending, and he sank it into Roth’s neck as he landed.

Roth choked on his own blood as Jacob pulled his blade back, looking up at him with a grin. “ _Darling_!” He made out, as if surprised Jacob was there. “What a night! The stuff of _legends_ …”

“Why did you do it?” Jacob asked, the one question that had burned in his mind, had pushed him on through the anger. Roth’s blood was spilling over his hands. “All of it?”

“Whaaat?” Roth asked, tone mocking. “Snap a baby crow’s neck between my thumb and forefinger? Slice to _bits_ those you deem innocent? Keep the _world_ in its divine, manic state?” He scoffed. “For the same reason I do anything.”

It was with a surprising amount of strength that Roth reached up and grasp Jacob, pulling him down for a kiss, and Jacob tasted blood on the man’s lips before pulling back, his mind reeling. Roth grinned at him, a mocking look.

“ _Why not_?” He laughed at Jacob’s expression before his hands fell to the ground, and Maxwell Roth moved no more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who left kudos and comments! They are very appreciated! Sorry this chapter was a little short, but that scene moves along so quickly in the game. Onto the next! From here on out, there shouldn't be any warnings I need to give.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! No warnings for this chapter, and only one more to go!!

As far as Jacob knew, no one was killed in the fire that consumed the Alhambra. He sat across the road, watching as the theater burned and then as people tried to put it out. He didn’t feel anything, but the cloth with Roth’s blood burned him where he’d put it in his pocket. He hadn’t pulled it out yet, and was dreading the time when he would have to. He didn’t want to go back to the train, or back to the hospital. He didn’t want to go to a bar, or to one of the Rook hideouts.

He knew where he wanted to be. He knew with _whom_ he wanted to be. Jacob sighed and leaned back, gazing at the smoke-clouded sky and away from a place he would never go inside again. There would be no reason to, now.

His anger had left him, had burned through him the way the fire had torn through the theater, leaving him hollow and worn out. He knew he should leave, leave and tell Evie it was done. It occurred to him vaguely that the Blighters were done for now, at least those who had still been loyal to Roth. He wondered if that had been a lie too, if the Blighters _had_ all still worked for him.

_Why not?_

Roth’s answer still rang in his ears, and Jacob could almost still taste the blood on his lips. He had scrubbed at them and spat until it was gone, he knew there was nothing more than the memory of Roth still there.

A distant part of him wondered where Lewis had gone off to. He supposed it didn’t matter, but the oddly expressionless man had grown on him a little. He wondered if the man was alive. If he were, would he want revenge?

Well, Roth’s body would be burned to a crisp anyway. It certainly wasn’t _his_ fault the theater had burned down; Roth had done that himself. There were witnesses that could attest to that. Although, he supposed there were witnesses to the Assassination as well, no matter how panicked the people had been. Hopefully everyone had been too worried about getting out of the theater to worry about him.

When it came right down to it, he found himself not actually caring all that much. So what if people saw him kill Roth? No one could prove it was _him_. He sighed and closed his eyes, listening to the city below and around him. He didn’t mean to fall asleep, but woke up when a cat meowed somewhere at him.

The burned theater looked even worse in the gloomy daylight. It looked like rain to Jacob, who put up his hood again and climbed down to the ground, shoving his hands into his pockets before making his way to Lambeth. The hospital was quiet when he walked in, and he made it to Wynert’s room with little fuss. He knocked on the door.

There was no reply. He peered through the keyhole before opening the door, finding it unlocked. The room was empty. Frowning, he turned his Sight on and looked around, eventually finding Florence. “Miss Nightingale,” he said. “Sorry to interrupt, but where did Mr. Wynert and Isaac go?”

Florence raised her eyes to the heavens. “The two left sometime late last night,” she said. “I haven’t a clue where they’ve gone off to.”

 _Damn,_ Jacob thought. He thought for a while before heading to Wynert’s offices there the Thames. It was easy, sneaking inside and to Wynert’s office. He found a piece of paper and a pen and wrote _Roth’s dead. -J.Frye_. He left it on the desk and stared at it. As an afterthought, he pulled out the handkerchief with Roth’s blood, and gently set it down next to it. He and Evie only took the cloth out of habit; if Greenie asked for it, he had a good excuse of “The theater was on fire, and as there was no rain, I didn’t really have _time_.”

It was true, anyway, and Greenie was so soft he’d probably accept that answer. Evie wouldn’t, but she wasn’t in charge. So _ha_.

He left the offices again, no one sparing him a second glance. He was making his way back to the train when he was practically accosted by a group of Rooks.

“Mr. Frye!”

 _Oh no,_ Jacob thought and hurried onward, only to find his way was blocked by someone running up to hug him. A kid, grinning up at him, called out, “I got ‘im!”

Jacob sighed and gave the kid a small sigh, ruffling his hair. “Hey, Rolphy,” he said and looked around to see Dominic, Annalee, and Jonathan approaching. “Hullo, you lot.”

“‘Lo, boss,” Dominic said pleasantly, one arm thrown over Annalee’s shoulders. “You look like shit.”

“I feel like shit,” Jacob replied, and Rolphy frowned before burying his face into Jacob’s coat, hugging him tighter.

“Why d’you smell like smoke?” He asked when he looked back up at Jacob. Jacob huffed and picked the boy up, throwing him over one shoulder while the boy shrieked with delight and laughter.

“Maybe,” he said over the laughing, “because I was in a _fire_.”

“Ah, well that’s bad luck,” Jon said, patting his back. “C’mon, get a drink with us, won’t you? You look like y’need one.”

“I think I might,” Jacob said, setting Rolphy upright again. “You buying?”

“Sure, but only for you,” Jon said. “The others’ll have to buy their own.”

“That’s fair,” Dominic said, grinning. “Come on, there’s a pub not far.”

Jacob walked with them, glad now that he had an excuse not to go back to the train. He took his drink—an ale, something in a tankard—and slipped away to the corner. He thought he’d slipped away successfully until Annalee came up and sat across to him, with her usual green drink. He couldn’t remember the name of it anymore. Probably not “abstinence,” which was the only thing he could think of, but he decided not to comment on it.

“Are you alright, Mr. Frye?” She asked. He shrugged.

“It’s nothing.”

“Beg your pardon, but it doesn’t seem like it to me. ‘S unusual, seeing you sitting all by yourself when there’s others around.” She tilted her head back to Dominic and Jon. “You’re usually the life of the party.”

He shrugged. “I’m a bit tired.”

Annalee nodded and sipped at her drink. Jacob stared into his own for a minute, sipping at it, until he finally continued, “I… lost someone. That I might have loved.”

She gave him a sorrowful look. “I’m sorry for your loss,” she said. Jacob nodded and sipped at his drink again, hoping it would loosen the lump in his throat. She glanced back behind her to where Dominic and Jon were still occupied. “You know,” she said, “there’s a nice spot out in Whitechapel in a park on the west side that’s good if you just need some time to yourself. It’s not very crowded, and not many can hear. I went there a lot, um, after the explosion. I still do sometimes. But it’s quiet, and I think you should go there. They won’t notice,” she added, indicating the other rooks, “and if they do, I can cover you.”

Jacob nodded. “Thanks,” he said. “I… I really appreciate that.”

She smiled. “Anytime, Mr. Frye.” She went back to join the Rooks and Jacob made his getaway, leaving his half-finished ale on the table. No one noticed as he left, pulling his hood up as he walked to Whitechapel. He eventually found the park Annalee had spoken of, and found that it was rather abandoned. It was pretty, though, and he sat down on a bench. There was a book lying next to him that he picked up and flipped through.

 _Roth’s dead_. He didn’t even know how he was supposed to feel. How _was_ someone supposed to feel, when they found out their lover had betrayed them so easily and willingly? How was he supposed to feel, now that he’d _killed_ said lover for these betrayals? In the end, Roth had to die. If not him, then Evie, if not Evie, then probably Isaac, if not Isaac, then… Ned. And if not Ned, then someone innocent. _Children_. The image of that workshop on fire flitted through his mind and he put the book aside, feeling sick.

But why? _Why_? He didn’t understand, _couldn’t_ understand how someone could so willingly let _children_ die for sins that were not their own.

_Why not?_

“Why not”? Was that really the only reason Roth needed? Was that what he thought freedom truly was?

If “Why not” was the only reason anyone needed, why not let Starrick get the Shroud? Why not abandon the Assassins all together? Why not? Why should he go back to the train at all, why? What _reason_ was there?

 _Because actions have consequences_ , said the part of Jacob’s brain that sounded simultaneously like Evie and their father. _And these are the consequences_.

Jacob didn’t realize he was crying until he’d put his face in his hands, unable to swallow the lump in his throat. He took a shuddering breath, and let out a tight sob, a hand over his mouth. Roth was dead. Roth was _dead_ and he’d killed him, just as easily as he’d killed anyone in his life. And, just like every other person he’d killed in his life, Roth _deserved_ it. And dammit all, he’d deserved it before then, but he’d been to fucking _blind_ to see it all.

How desperate was he? It was _pathetic_. Here he was, sitting in an empty park on a bench, hand over his mouth and leaning almost between his legs, _sobbing_ over a man he’d killed. How many men and women had he killed in his life? Hundreds? _Thousands_? He had never thought about it before.

What was stopping him from leaving the Assassins?

Nothing. Nothing at all. There was no point to  _anything_  now, was there?

Jacob cried for what seemed like both too long a time, and not long enough before he straightened up a little, leaning his elbows on his knees. He sighed. No, he didn’t really want to leave the Assassins. Not while there were men like Roth still out there. But that didn’t mean he had to keep working with his sister.

The day was new, and Jacob was tired. With a sigh, he got up and put his hands in his pockets, making his way back to the train. He was going to be late meeting Evie.

He didn’t truly care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who left kudos!!


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings for this chapter. There's quite a lot of sarcasm though.

“We’re leaving.” Isaac said, arms crossed. There was a wheelchair in front of him. “C’mon.”

Ned stared at the wheelchair for a moment before looking up. “In _that_?”

“Mhm.”

“Can’t I just walk?”

“No.”

“ _Isaac_ …”

“I can put the chair away, and we can forget about the whole thing, if you’d prefer,” Isaac replied. “Up to you.”

Ned glared, first at the chair, then at Isaac before rolling his eyes and groaning. “ _Fine_. Help me up and wipe that smug grin of your face.”

Isaac only snorted with laughter at him as he helped Ned into the chair. As he wheeled him down the dark halls of Lambeth, Ned asked, “Does that nurse know we’re doing this?”

“Nope.” Isaac popped his P, sounding a little pleased with himself.

“So… You’re kidnapping me.”

“Well,” Isaac said, peering around a corner before turning. “You don’t really know where we’re going. You couldn’t run away if you tried—or you wouldn’t get far, anyway—and I’m going to hold you against your will, so you can _heal_ , dammit. So, yes. Technically, I’m kidnapping you.”

“Great,” Ned said sarcastically. “Twice in as many months, that’s a new record for me.”

“The only way I can see that this _isn’t_ a kidnapping is that you _want_ me to take you,” Isaac said. “And, I paid that nurse off, so no one even knew we were here. Don’t know what that says about kidnapping, but it seemed important.”

They reached the courtyard with little fuss, and Isaac helped Ned into the waiting carriage, abandoning the wheelchair where it was. The ride was slow, but Ned appreciated not being jostled around too much, as he had been when Jacob had saved him that time. When they arrived at their destination, Isaac gently picked Ned up and carried him up to a townhouse.

 _He must have opened the door already,_ Ned thought as Isaac nudged the door open with his foot. “Where are we?” He asked aloud.

“My place,” Isaac replied, walking into the dark house. They went up a flight of stairs, turned, and Ned ended up on a soft bed. A spike of panic rose in him briefly as Isaac moved away, but he pushed it back down as a lamp was lit. There was no reason to panic, Ned thought angrily to himself. It was just Isaac, after all.

“Hungry?” Isaac asked as he tucked Ned under the quilt. Ned shook his head, gripping the edge perhaps a little tighter than normal. “No? Alright. I’m starved, I’m going to make tea for myself, I’ll be right back. If you need anything, holler. Otherwise, I’m right downstairs.”

Ned nodded, but couldn’t help the nervousness that settled in his stomach as Isaac left the room. He left the door open, and turned the lights on behind him, and Ned took a few deep breaths, closing his eyes. When he opened them, he tried to take in the room.

For all intents and purposes, the wallpaper reminded him inexplicitly of his grandmother. There was a bookshelf on the opposite wall, the shelves sagging under the weight of books Ned couldn’t see the titles of. The bed was comfortable, and the quilt looked handmade, almost with love. The drapes at the window were thin and blue, pulled closed against the outside chill. Under the window was a wooden trunk, and there was a wooden stool next to the bed. The room was simple and plain, but had a certain coziness.

Ned waited, a little bemused, for Isaac to returned. The footsteps coming up the stairs made him gulp, and it was only when Isaac appeared in the door with a tea tray did he realize he’d been gripping at the quilt so hard, his knuckles had gone white.

If Isaac noticed, he said nothing. He put the tray on the bedside, humming to himself and busying himself with bitching the kettle. Ned’s insides slowly loosened as Isaac smiled and handed him his tea before serving himself and sitting on the wooden stool.

“You live here?” Ned asked as Isaac blew on his tea.

“When I’m in London, yes,” Isaac replied. He quirked an eyebrow at Ned. “What, not up to your usual living standards?”

“No, it’s lovely,” Ned said. “Very nice.”

Isaac smiled a little. “Thank you,” he said. “I certainly try.”

They sat in relative silence while they drank their tea. Ned didn’t notice he was nodding off until Isaac took his teacup from him. “You’re going to spill it everywhere, and this thing’s a pain to clean,” he said, indicating the quilt. “I’ll put this back downstairs.”

Before he could leave, Ned called out, “Isaac…”

“Yeah?” He turned at the door, eyebrows raised a little. Ned opened his mouth, but found suddenly that his words failed him. What, was he going to say that he was scared? There was nothing _to_ be scared of; no one knew where Isaac _lived_. Heck, _he_ hadn’t known where Isaac lived until they had pulled up to the front door.

Isaac seemed to understand anyway. He came back, setting the tray back down. He turned the light in the bedroom off, the light in the hall still bringing enough light to see. Seemingly satisfied, Isaac went to the other side of the bed and got in. Ned had flushed red by then, mortified.

“Punk, I can hear you overthinking this,” Isaac mumbled, shifting. “Stop it. Go to sleep. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.” Ned took his glasses off and put them on the bedside, facing away from Isaac as he settled down, and tried to sleep.

* * *

Nightmares plagued Ned all through his recovery. Usually they were about being locked up in the Alhambra, or in Lambeth. Occasionally they were about the business failing, but whenever he mentioned it to Isaac, Isaac waved away his concerns, saying, “I’m on top of it, Ned, stop _worrying_. Just rest.”

As much as Ned wanted to go home, he admitted to himself it was a relief having Isaac there. Isaac never stopped sleeping beside Ned, with the excuse of, “There’s only one bed in this house, punk, and _this is it_.”

In reality, he’d had to shake Ned awake from his nightmares. He was there, listening to Ned’s nighttime ramblings and spouts of panic and unprompted crying, and urged Ned to tell him everything that sadistic motherfucker had done.

Ned dwindled on that part, never going into detail. He mostly replied with, “You _know_ what he did. Don’t make me say it.” And fortunately, Isaac eventually gave up.

“Roth’s dead,” Isaac said one evening when he came back from the offices, brandishing a cloth with blood. “Jacob actually killed him, _and_ the Alhambra’s burned down.”

“What?” Ned had been reading, but he dropped the book aside. Isaac nodded tossing his coat into a chair and sitting heavily on the bed.

“Yeah,” he said, handing the cloth to Ned. “And this is the proof. The Assassins, for whatever reason, take ‘proof’ that their target is dead, dunno why. Anyway, Jacob left a note.”

“Any other news I should know about?” Ned said, putting the handkerchief aside. Isaac nodded slowly.

“Crawford Starrick’s dead, too.”

“ _What_? When?”

“About two weeks ago. And it looks like those twins and Henry Green—you know Henry Green, right?—got knighted by the Queen.”

Ned sat back on his pillows, running his fingers through his hair. “Damn,” he said. “That’s… Well, good for them. _Anything else_ you’ve neglected to tell me?”

Isaac thought about it for a moment. “Oh. Yes. John’s body turned up. He’d been floating in the Thames.”

Ned closed his eyes. _That lying bastard,_ he thought. “So he wasn’t bought by Roth?”

“Doesn’t seem like it. There’s signs of torture, though.”

Ned nodded. He couldn’t blame him, but a part of him felt betrayed. “God rest his soul,” he murmured. “ _Anything_ else you’re keeping from me?”

Isaac thought. “I’d adopt a cat, but I move around too much.”

Ned rolled his eyes. “Not what I meant, but good to know. Thanks. Can I go back to work now?”

Isaac raised his eyebrows, giving Ned a Look. “No. You’ve still got a _broken rib_ , if you’ll recall.”

“Aw, shut up, it’s not _that_ broken.”

“Once you’re off the pain meds, you can go back to work. Unless you want to be at work on drugs.”

Ned huffed. “Fine. You win. _But_ , I want to go back as soon as possible.”

It wouldn’t be for another four weeks that Isaac finally let Ned leave his flat, bringing him clothes and a hat. Ned threw them on, his ribs twinging him a little, but nothing terrible. He went to work and was welcomed back by many. It was nice, he thought, being missed by so many people. Not that everyone knew he was _missing_ per-sey, but they knew he hadn’t been around. He wondered what excuse Isaac had used until someone mentioned the words “America” and “Business trip.”

Ah. That made sense. Ned rolled with it, smiling and nodding his agreement, keeping the story as vague as possible. It was nice, getting back to work; even if Isaac had been bringing paperwork for Ned to do, it just wasn’t the same. Ned liked his office; it felt a little more like home than _home_ did.

Ned worked until Isaac came in and sent him home. “You’ve still got a little soreness in your ribs,” he said. “Don’t strain yourself, give it another week before you get back to your usual schedule, hmm?”

“Thanks, _Dad_ ,” Ned said, rolling his eyes, but he packed up, excited to finally be able to go back to his own apartment. Isaac ruffled his hair and flipped him off as he left.

“Anything for you, punk,” he said as Ned squawked indignantly. Finally, he made his way back to Whitechapel. He paused on his way at a pub; it was a quiet scene, much to his taste, and, well, what could one drink hurt? He deserved it, after the last few months he’d had. Ned walked in, taking his hat off as he went and looking around. He did a double take.

There, alone in the corner with his hood up, was unmistakably Jacob Frye. _Sir_ Jacob Frye now, according to Isaac. Ned frowned a little; what was Jacob Frye doing in a place like this? He imagined Jacob liking a livelier scene, not the quiet warmth of this place. Ned tried to ignore him, ordering his own drink and sitting at the bar. He didn’t quite succeed in forgetting Jacob, turning to glance at him every so often.

 _Fuck it,_ he thought finally and got out of his seat, taking his drink and walking over to him. Jacob’s eyes flicked up to him with a sharpness that indicated he wasn’t completely drunk. Yet. He looked away again when he saw who it was. “Wynert,” he said and sipped at his drink.

“Frye. _Sir_ Frye, I hear now. Congratulations on that.”

“Mm.”

“Mind if I take a seat?” Jacob waved a hand, indicating the seat across, and Ned took it. “Didn’t think this place was really your style,” he said as he sat, placing his cup down and crossing his legs. “What’re you drinking there?”

Jacob gave a half shrug. “Absinthe.”

“Ah. Not a fan of that, myself. Good for when you want to stay a little sober, though.”

“It’s grown on me.”

Ned nodded and sipped at his drink. “Can I buy you something else? A scotch maybe?”

“…Sure. Thanks.”

Ned ordered, and got his glass refilled, placing Jacob’s glass in front of him. Jacob took it and looked into it for a while, and Ned noticed he seemed to have a problem with looking at him. Ned watched him for a while longer until Jacob said, “How’ve you been?”

“Alright,” Ned replied vaguely. “And yourself?”

“Alright, I suppose.”

“Good. That’s… good.” Ned leaned back in his chair. They were both liars, he supposed, but at least they both seemed to know it. Jacob peered up at him for a moment before averting his gaze. Ned sighed internally and swirled his drink around, looking at it. “Look, Frye…” He trailed off and sighed. “I said some things, back at Lambeth. It was uncalled for. And I shouldn’t’ve said it.”

Jacob shrugged a shoulder, still looking at his drink. Ned huffed. “What I’m trying to say is… I’m sorry.”

“…Thanks, Wynert.”

They lapsed back into silence as thick as the Thames was filthy. _Think, Wynert,_ he thought to himself. _Say something, Goddammit_. “I’ve got a job I need done,” he blurted out. “My sources tell me a valuable shipment’s coming in from France by train. Not mine, but I definitely want it. It shouldn’t be too difficult; I’d do it myself but…” He gave a wry shrug. “Doctor’s orders for bedrest and miserable boredom.” He paused and peered at Jacob. “You game?”

Jacob looked up at him, blinking. “Am I… What?”

“I’d pay you the usual ten-percent of whatever you bring in,” Ned continued as if he hadn’t heard. “Hell, I’ll raise you to fifteen. You in?”

Jacob stared at him and Ned finally got a good look at his face. He was doing fine, but there were circles under his eyes that indicated a lack of sleep. Ned said nothing but sipped his drink and waited for an answer.

“Can’t Evie do it for you?”

“I mean, she _could_ ,” Ned allowed. “But I’m not asking her, I’m asking _you_.”

Jacob took a gulp of his scotch, looking away from Ned again. “Fifteen percent?” He said, although Ned knew he didn’t _really_ care about the money. He nodded.

“Yep. All yours.”

Jacob nodded. “Alright,” he said. “I’ll do it.”

Ned smiled. “Excellent! Glad to hear it.” He finished his drink and set the empty glass on the table with a few coins for tip. “Come by the office tomorrow, I’ll give you the details. Good evening, Frye.”

Jacob smiled. It was small, but real, and Ned thought it was nice. “Call me Jacob,” he said.

“Alright then, Jacob.” He put his hat back on and tipped it at Jacob. “Good evening.”

Jacob nodded and lifted a hand in farewell. “Goodnight.”

Satisfied, Ned turned and walked out. It was raining now, and he pulled his coat around him, thankful he wasn’t too far away from his flat. As he glanced back into the pub, he noticed that Jacob was gone. Ned rolled his eyes, but smirked all the same. “Damn Assassins,” he muttered, and walked out into the London night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The End.
> 
> Thank you all for your support; it's been quite the ride. There's a lot of emotional turmoil that has yet to be wrapped up, so I hope you'll stick around for _Curtain Call_! I've already started writing bits and pieces, but unlike this fic, it will be rated Teen or Mature. I don't think I could write something this explicitly dark again. Again, thank you all so much for the comments, the kudos, and the love. It's deeply appreciated by both Daughter and me.
> 
> I wish you all a lovely day, wherever you might be. Goodnight.


End file.
